The dorm hall is quiet enough to make your pulse sound like a rule you're breaking. I lock my door and check the balance without really looking at the number—down a little over five thousand from yesterday's questions. Worth it. Information here costs what you'll pay.
Three partner lines keep circling my head like planes that haven't been cleared to land.
The First choice
Kushida Kikyo 2-D — close to Class D's air currents, glued to everyone who matters there. Her proximity with Kiyotaka could help.
However she was unpredictable and could backstab him at a drop of a dime, he did have her past he could use against her however.
The second choice
Ichinose Honami 2-B - broad reach, clean reputation, makes tangled things look straight.
However I question her mental fortitude and resolve. She complete crumbles when it comes to doing things of morally grey area, likely because of her past..
And finally the third..
Ryūen Kakeru (2-C) — leverage if I can stand the heat, knows where the floor isn't level. He has been burned by Kiyotaka before and knows the monster better than anyone.
His influence and underhanded tactics could no doubt be useful
However.. he was also unpredictable and dangerous, I would rather not have my gun turn on me.
I rub my head and sigh
Pick one too soon and I lose angles. Wait too long and I lose choice.
...
I know who I should visit first
__
The campus mornings are designed to look honest—trimmed trees, forgiving sunlight, the smell of bread from a machine that's never been late.
First-years hover in loose knots; second-years drift in lines that look casual until you try to cut across them.
Kushida finishes talking to a small ring of first-years near the convenience store. She has that calibrated warmth that makes people's shoulders drop as if they've been told the right answer exists and she might lend it to them. The ring dissolves on cue. She turns and spots me like we planned it.
"Good morning, Yagami-kun.... 1B right?" She asks with a disarming overly bright smile
"Morning, Kushida-senpai,and yes you are correct..." I say, and angle toward the doors. "Do you mind if I walk this way?"
She moves with me as if we're on a track. "Not at all."
We let the automatic doors do the little performance of politeness and step into the corridor. Our reflections keep pace in the glass. Her smile is set to "welcoming," but the eyes are already measuring.
"You've settled in well?" she asks with a bright smile.
"I'm learning how the place lies," I say. "And how it tells the truth by accident."
"You're quick," she says, amused.
"Perhaps ."
We pass the window where, if you stand at the right angle, you can see the corner where Hosen nearly turned yesterday into a police report. Ibuki's windpipe in his grip, Ryūen on the floor, Sudo bristling, Class D stacked like a bad wall. I'd stepped in at the end, just enough to draw Hosen's glare and give him that deadpan line he hated:
"You tell me—you're the one treating the school hall like a Roman Colosseum."
He'd surged; I'd held his eyes and given him nothing to eat. His teacher's voice saved the drywall. The scene still smells like cheap adrenaline in my head.
"I saw you there," Kushida says, soft enough to be polite, sharp enough to be a point. "When things almost got... silly."
"Ugly," I correct.
"Ugly," she agrees. "You spoke to Hosen-kun."
"A sentence," I say. "It was enough."
"You made a joke."
"A weather report," I say. "He'd turned the hall into an arena. It felt wrong not to call it what it was."
She watches my profile as we walk, as if the space between words might flicker. "Most first-years freeze at that kind of scene. Or they try to make speeches."
"I don't like blood on my shoes," I say. "And I don't like being entertainment."
That earns a real breath of a laugh before she shelves it. "You're interesting, Yagami-kun."
"I'm trying to be useful," I say, because that's the safer word.
We fall into a comfortable pace that pretends to be casual. She breaks it first. "So—the paired exams... First-years with second-years. Are you looking?"
"I am," I say.
"For anyone in particular?"
"Yes," I say, and leave it there a beat too long to be empty. "Someone steady. Someone who can choose the quiet move when the loud one looks tempting."
She lets the compliment brush past without catching on it. "You're describing someone like me."
"Yes," I say, and don't flinch.
"Why me?"
"Because you keep people connected," I say. "I just watched you do it. And because after yesterday, it's useful to be near someone who knows when a spark is a spark and when it's an excuse."
"Mm." She tilts her head, sunshine on her hair, eyes bright and non-committal. "Are you asking me to partner with you?"
"I am," I say. "Directly."
There's a small shift in her posture—respect for skipping the dance. "I should prioritize within 2-D," she says. "It's my class. You understand."
"I'd worry if you didn't say that," I answer.
We walk past the bulletin board of clubs and notices, each sheet of paper a small negotiation. I decide to put one card on the table, not face-up, just turned enough to be seen.
"Kushida-senpai...." I say, tone unchanged.
"you went to Shinonome Middle didn't you?"
...
Silence stretched for a couple of seconds
The smile doesn't change. The grip on her bottle does. "I did..."
"Stories from Shinonome travel badly," I say. "People use them to draw whatever shape they need."
"And shapes are easier than people," she says, the answer already in her pocket.
"I'm not here to use them," I say. "I'm here to let you know I know they exist—and that they won't be my leverage."
Silence, but not the empty kind. The kind where something resets by a click you don't get to see.
"Tch... you expect me to believe that?" She glares her attitude doing a full swap.
Her face was much darker a deep contrast to the front she was putting up before.
"Most people like surprise as a tactic," I say unaffected by her mood "I like consent as a strategy."
She laughs at that, quick and annoyed, before smoothing it away. "Your so weird... You keep saying things I have to write down later..."
"I try not to repeat myself," I say lightly.
She shifts the topic, but not away. "If I said yes...what would you expect?" She looks at me warily
"Honesty," I say. "No vanish acts, don't backstab me. Communication. And if you say no, I'd like a hard no, now, so I can move without looking back."
"Honesty..? Communication? Such a strange request...." she gives me a strange look "You'll get one or the other, don't think this means anything" she says, and for the first time the heat in her voice was calm
We reach the stairwell that splits our routes. She stops. I stop.
"Yagami-kun.." she says, and meets my eyes. "About yesterday—you de-escalated by not adding heat. This school doesn't always reward that. Sometimes it rewards the people who throw water and keep the bucket." She warned
"I know where to find a bucket," I say.
"And you're already interesting," she adds. "That's not always safe here."
"I didn't come to be safe," I say. "I came to graduate."
It's her turn to laugh—small, involuntary. "All right. Let me see what I can do in D. If I'm open, you'll hear from me."
"I'll keep my afternoon flexible," I say.
She gives a short wave and slips into the second-year stream. The door closes soft. The corridor exhales.
Assessment: she clocked me at the Hosen scene, logged my line, tested for threat with Shinonome, decided I'm a person who says things he means and means things he doesn't say. Not a yes. Not a no. A purposeful maybe with a timer.
Fine.
I take the long way back toward the convenience store to shake any tail I didn't earn. Students move like weather; if you keep your head at a certain angle, you can hear which cloud is going to burst.
My mental map redraws itself: Kushida on a thin thread; Ichinose still a door I can knock on without changing shoes; Ryūen smoking somewhere he's not supposed to, the type to appreciate someone who calls a colosseum a colosseum and still stays on the bleachers. If I want to understand the school's underbelly without lying down in it, I'll need a conversation with him that doesn't end in a dare.
I buy a can of black coffee and let the bitterness sandpaper the last of the morning out of my mouth. Then I cut across the quad and aim for the 2-C floor. No texts. No announcements. Just a hallway walked with the right weight.
The day has decided not to blink. I keep my face pleasant and my pockets light and go looking for a man who prefers trouble to boredom.
—
I find him where upperclassmen say he broods—2-C's back balcony, the one with the dead vending machine and the view of the track. Late sun cuts the air into hard gold and cool shadow. The rubber on the lanes throws up a warm smell.
Ryūen Kakeru leans on the rail like he bought it. One ankle crossed. Jacket open. Smile set to "I dare you." Ibuki Mio stands a half-step off his shoulder, arms crossed, chin up. The bruise at her throat is oval and mean, right where yesterday's fingers closed.
She clocks me first. Her eyes narrow, door-chain tight.
"Morning," I say, as if we're just three students sharing weather.
Ryūen looks over without moving anything else. "You're the first-year who made the wise crack. Yagami Takuya Class 1-B"
Seems like he does his research
"Guilty," I say.
"And bold enough to climb to my balcony after," he says, amused. "Or bad at reading signs."
"Neither," I say. "I prefer to read people."
Ibuki's jaw ticks. "What do you want?"
"To return a courtesy," I say, and let my eyes land once, deliberately, on the bruise. "You had a hard time with Hōsen yesterday."
His smile thins a millimeter. For a man who lives on theater, he doesn't like the spotlight pointed back. "Observation," he says mildly. "Conclusion?"
"That you moved when his hand was on her neck," I say, steady. "You got shoved for it. You still moved though, that's Noted."
Ibuki's gaze flickers—surprise, then a guarded nothing. Being seen is different from being pitied; she's testing which this is.
Ryūen raps the dead vending machine with a knuckle, a lazy metronome. "All right, ledger boy. Talk."
I take a patch of rail near but not close, palms loose on cold metal. "Yesterday taught me two things. One: Hosen likes an audience more than he likes air. Two: this school manufactures audiences. People watch, so they feel safe."
"Mm." His eyes smile. His mouth doesn't. "What does that buy me?"
"My Aid," I say. "If you plan to watch him burn his fuse down for sport, tell me once. I won't trip your show. If something threatens to turn a hallway into a crime scene and I can stop it without cutting my own throat, you'll hear it."
Ibuki tilts her head. "You really came to tell us you won't get in the way?"
"And to return a courtesy," I repeat. "You tried to peel his hand off her. That sort of math matters to me."
Ryūen watches the way I don't coat the sentence in sugar. He enjoys people who pick their words like knives.
"Most first-years either kneel up here or brandish a tin sword," he says. "You brought a Pen."
"Numbers live longer than applause," I say.
He actually grins at that—brief, sharp, predatory. "Anything else?"
"The boy from D," I say, casual on purpose.
"Ayanokoji Kiyotaka.."
My words sit. A half-degree of focus settles in his eyes. "What about him?"
"I saw him not watch the fight until the room needed a center," I say. "Then he looked exactly once—long enough to measure the temperature. He looked at me, too." I shrug. "For a second, it felt like being measured to see if I'm furniture."
"And are you?" Ryūen asks.
"No," I say. "You saw that yesterday."
He taps the rail. "You say 'the boy from D' like he is a bad omen ."
"Bad habit from a bad kind of school," I say. "I don't say names into open air unless I have to. If he prefers quiet, I'm happy to give it."
"'Prefer' is a tourist word," he says. "Some animals freeze when you look. Some look back. Some make you believe they froze before they move."
"I noticed you didn't look away," I say.
He lifts one shoulder. "I don't blink for free."
Ibuki shifts her weight, patience running out. "If you're not here to cut a deal, cut to the point."
"Fine," I say. "I won't be your problem. If I learn something that keeps Hosen's hands off throats again and it doesn't light me on fire, I'll cough. In return, when the ground tilts, cough once. I don't need your hand—just the weather."
Ryūen considers the shape of that. "You talk like you've rehearsed staying neutral."
"I've practiced staying uninteresting to the wrong eyes," I say. "Yesterday reminded me this school has a lot of eyes."
He looks pleased in that way wolves look pleased when a deer knows what teeth are. "You're interesting, 1-B. Also annoying. What do you want right now?"
"Nothing you'd give on day two," I say. "Information settles better when it isn't purchased."
He clicks his tongue against his teeth, then pushes off the rail a centimeter. Conversation hinge. "Here's a courtesy back," he says. "If you plan to orbit D-class's quiet star, bring sunscreen. You won't notice the burn until you smell your own shirt."
"I appreciate the forecast," I say.
"And if you plan to poke Hosen," he adds, smile returning, "tell me first. I'll sell tickets."
"Not my sport," I say. "I dislike performers who mistake the audience for props."
"Then you'll hate this school by summer," Ibuki mutters.
"Maybe," I say. "Or I'll learn where the exits are."
He studies how I don't try to charm, how I keep the line balanced between respect and refusal. He catalogues me; I catalogue him back—doesn't flinch at pressure, moves when it costs, likes watching people declare themselves.
"You came alone," he says finally. "No witnesses. No recorder. Confidence or loneliness?"
"Both," I say.
That earns me another quick grin. "All right, Yagami. I won't trip you for sport." A beat. "For now."
"I'll try not to deserve it," I say.
I turn, then pause. "One more thing." I nod once at Ibuki's throat. "I'll personally deal with him if he pulls a stunt like that again as per our deal..."
She opens her mouth, closes it, picks silence again. It fits her better.
Ryūen grins in amusement. He flicks two fingers in a lazy shoo. "Ha.. cocky first year.. Go before I start charging admission."
I leave the gold light for the duller corridor and let the noise of the field die on the turn. My reflection follows in the glass. Same face I chose this morning. Still fits.
The ledger in my head updates: Kushida—aware I know too much, displeased angry face ; Ryūen—interested without investment, weather map more than destination; Ibuki—proud, watchful, bruise fading, fuse live. And the boy from D—gravity well you only notice when pencils roll toward him.
I think, briefly, about messaging Ichinose a polite thanks for yesterday's hello; about pinging Ichika to ask if she's already orbiting D's dorm like a moth. I do neither. The exam clock still has hours. Half the grade has paired off; the other half confuses "time remaining" with "time to waste."
At the stairwell I stop and listen—not for footsteps, but for that trained prickle that says someone heard too much. Nothing. Just the building breathing.
I move again. I'm not hunting alliances. I'm buying room. Yesterday I earned a sliver. Enough to keep walking.
And enough, when the corridor bends, to look up and imagine those flat D-class eyes measuring me again. Not furniture. Not yet.