The cool winter breeze brushed against the hallway windows as Ayanokōji stepped out from the principal's office. The sound of his own footsteps echoed faintly in the nearly empty corridor.
At the far end, leaning casually against the wall, was Chabashira-sensei. She seemed to have been waiting for him for quite some time. Her posture was relaxed, but the tightness in her eyes betrayed something else entirely.
Ayanokōji glanced at her once, uninterested, and kept walking.
"Hold on, Ayanokōji," she called after him, her voice calm but firm.
He didn't stop, forcing her to quicken her pace and fall in beside him. "I heard what happened in there. Was it really your father?"
He gave her a sidelong glance, the faintest trace of amusement flickering in his eyes. "You're remarkably well-informed for someone who pretends not to be involved."
Her steps faltered, only for a second, before she recomposed herself. "You… heard everything, didn't you?"
"I heard enough," he replied coldly. "I'm aware everything you said to me before was a lie."
Her face stiffened. He could almost see her breath quicken as they passed a classroom window, the light cutting through her expression. "A lie?" she repeated softly.
"The chairman told me," he said flatly. "Every word. You were never ordered by my father. You were never part of his plan. The only reason you approached me was for your own dream—your own obsession with reaching Class A."
Her composure finally cracked. "That's—"
"True," Ayanokōji finished for her. "You didn't even try to deny it. Even now, you're avoiding my eyes."
Chabashira's lips pressed into a thin line. The hallway felt colder somehow.
"On the surface, you pretend to be detached," he continued, "a teacher who gave up long ago. But in reality, your desire to reach Class A burns brighter than anyone else's. That's why you tried to use me."
He stopped walking, turning to face her fully now. "It's ironic, really. You tried to manipulate the one person who can't be manipulated."
She exhaled heavily, her breath trembling slightly. "You're right. I did it. I saw potential in you — more potential than I've ever seen in any student. I thought if I could push you, just a little, we could—"
"Reach Class A?" Ayanokōji interrupted sharply. "That dream again. Even after all these years."
Her tone hardened. "You think I can just forget it? You think I can watch my students fail again and again without wanting to change something?"
He regarded her silently for a few seconds before speaking again. "You blackmailed me. You used Horikita as bait. You tried to control me through guilt. And yet…"
He smiled faintly — the kind of smile that never reached his eyes. "You're standing here, powerless."
Chabashira's hands clenched at her sides. "You can look down on me all you want, Ayanokōji. But even now, I could have you expelled. One word, one accusation—"
"Would accomplish nothing," he cut in. His calm tone made her threat sound ridiculous. "You wouldn't dare risk it. You know exactly what kind of person I am."
For the first time, she flinched under his gaze.
"Besides," he added, "if I fall, your dream falls with me. You've built your hopes on a foundation that can't even be controlled. That was your mistake."
The hallway went quiet for a long time. Only the distant sound of students chatting outside filled the void.
Finally, he spoke again, his tone softer this time. "Still, I'll give you one piece of advice, Chabashira-sensei. Be more optimistic. There are still students in this class with potential. They might surprise you someday."
She blinked, startled by the sudden shift in tone. "You… you're not giving up?"
"I never said that," he replied vaguely, already turning away. "But if you try to manipulate me again… you'll never see Class A."
Her breath caught in her throat. The sound of his steps faded down the hallway until he disappeared around the corner, leaving her standing there in silence, defeated.
For a long while, Chabashira didn't move. Her reflection in the window looked small — the reflection of a teacher who had gambled everything and lost.
Outside, dusk had settled over the campus. The trees swayed softly, scattering the last few autumn leaves that clung stubbornly to their branches.
Ayanokōji walked aimlessly across the courtyard, his thoughts drifting back to his father. The cold, steel-like tone. The gaze that sliced through everything. The conversation that ended nothing and changed everything.
Their reunion hadn't been pleasant, but it had brought clarity.
No more obligations. No more invisible strings pulling him toward Class A.
From now on, he could simply… live.
That, in itself, felt like victory.
As he passed by the dormitory entrance, faint voices drew his attention. He paused, hearing a girl speaking softly on the phone nearby.
It was a 2nd-year student — tall, graceful, with a quiet confidence.
"Yes, Miyabi… I said I'll forgive you if you treat me, okay?" she teased. Her tone was playful, but underneath, it carried fatigue. "You've been busy ever since you became president. Don't think I haven't noticed."
A familiar name. Nagumo Miyabi.
Ayanokōji lingered quietly, hidden in the shadows, as she continued her call.
"Joining the council? No, I told you already. I'm not interested," she said firmly. "And no, your confession changes nothing. You still haven't settled things with Manabu-senpai."
There was a long pause. Her voice turned colder. "Defeat him first… then we'll talk."
A soft click followed. She sighed, murmuring to herself, "Honestly… Manabu-senpai is useless now. But soon, Miyabi will win. It's inevitable."
Only then did she notice Ayanokōji watching. Their eyes met for a brief, awkward second before she smiled faintly, embarrassed, and walked off toward the 2nd-year dorms.
Ayanokōji said nothing.
As the wind brushed past, he thought about her words — about Nagumo and Manabu — and how the balance of power at the school was shifting once again.
Later that night, in his dorm room, the faint glow of his phone screen illuminated his face.
He scrolled aimlessly through the school app, half-focused, his mind elsewhere. Karuizawa's name hovered on the screen for a moment before he tapped it.
The call connected immediately.
"You finally called," she said, her voice steady, but her tone betrayed something else — a quiet tension.
"I just wanted to talk," he replied.
"Don't lie. You always have a reason."
Ayanokōji smiled faintly. "You know me too well."
There was silence for a while. He could almost hear her breathing.
"Tell me," she said quietly. "Why do you hide it? Your intelligence, your strength. You could be like Hirata. People would like you. You'd be respected."
He leaned back on his chair, staring at the ceiling. "I don't need people to like me."
"That's not the point," she insisted. "You could do so much more."
"Exactly why I won't," he replied. "Attention is dangerous. It draws people closer — people like Ryuuen, Sakayanagi, Ichinose. It never ends well."
Karuizawa didn't answer.
"You already know the truth, don't you?" he said. "You've always known."
There was a pause. "…You're X, aren't you?"
He didn't deny it.
"But it doesn't matter anymore," he continued calmly. "My reason for helping Class D is gone. From now on, you don't need to act as my messenger. Our arrangement is over."
Her breath hitched audibly. "You're… cutting me off?"
He nodded to himself. "You hate being used, don't you? Then this should make you happy."
There was no reply. Only a faint trembling sound, as if she was gripping her phone too tightly.
"Still," he added, "a promise is a promise. If you're ever in trouble, I'll help. But after that, erase every trace of contact between us."
"…Is this really the last time?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
"It's kind of cold, isn't it?"
"I prefer it that way."
And with that, he ended the call.
For a moment, he stared at the black screen, feeling nothing.
Karuizawa would cry. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. But she would recover. Humans always did.
He had no reason to feel guilty.
They were both free now.
He turned back to his desk, making himself a cup of tea. The warmth of the steam brushed his face, but his thoughts were far away — back in the White Room.
The endless hours. The silence. The tests.
He didn't hate it. He didn't love it. It simply… was.
He was proud of what he'd become, but not of how.
Freedom — that was what he wanted.
And for the first time in a long while, he was getting close to it.
The quiet was interrupted by a soft chime from the dorm's intercom. Someone was at the door.
He frowned. Few people would visit at this hour.
When he opened it, standing there was Horikita Manabu.
The former student council president entered without hesitation, his presence as commanding as ever.
"You've been busy," Ayanokōji remarked dryly.
"So have you," Manabu replied, closing the door behind him. "We need to talk. About Nagumo."
The conversation that followed stretched deep into the night.
Nagumo's growing influence. His manipulation of the second years. His reckless ambition that could bring ruin to the school.
Manabu explained everything, his tone calm but urgent.
"You've noticed, haven't you?" he said. "He's rewriting the system — changing the rules faster than anyone can adapt. If this continues, dozens of students could be expelled before the year ends."
Ayanokōji listened silently, sipping his tea.
"So you want me to stop him," he said eventually.
"I want you to be prepared," Manabu corrected. "Nagumo doesn't care about limits. He's dangerous."
There was a long silence.
"You could have asked anyone else," Ayanokōji said. "Why me?"
"Because you're the only one who can," Manabu replied. "And because I trust you."
The words lingered in the air longer than either expected.
Finally, Ayanokōji nodded. "I'll think about it. But don't expect miracles."
Manabu gave a small, tired smile. "That's all I ask."
As he stood to leave, Ayanokōji added, "Give me your contact. I'll reach out when I've decided."
That seemed to surprise him. "You've changed," Manabu said quietly.
Ayanokōji looked out the window at the snow beginning to fall. "Maybe."
When Manabu left, the room returned to silence.
Ayanokōji stood alone, watching the snowflakes drift slowly under the lamplight.
Even now, somewhere deep inside, he felt the faint echo of curiosity.
The world outside the White Room — filled with flaws, emotions, and contradictions — still fascinated him.
And though his ties to others were fading one by one, he knew something was coming.
Something that would soon demand his attention again.