Paranoia is an acid. It dissolves loyalty and corrodes trust. And at the peak of the Ketsueki ecosystem, Kaito Ishikawa was bathing in it.
Miki's humiliation hadn't been an isolated incident; it was a second crack in the hull of his ship. Kaito had repudiated her from his inner circle instantly, not for her deception, but for her weakness in being caught. Her presence was now a reminder of his own failure to maintain control.
In his "court," the exclusive student lounge reserved for the elite, the atmosphere was frigid. His lieutenants—including Ryota, whose shoulder had already healed—avoided his gaze.
"It was a technical glitch," Ryota insisted. "The cable came loose. Just bad luck."
Kaito turned slowly from the window. "Bad luck?" he repeated, mimicking his father. "The same 'bad luck' that caused a clumsy foreigner to dislocate your shoulder? The same 'bad luck' that unearthed a seventy-year-old law?"
He swept his gaze across their faces. "My father believes there is a strategist. A ghost moving the pieces. I'm starting to think it's simpler than that. It's not a ghost. It's a disease. A silent insurrection. People are starting to think the rules no longer apply."
His eyes hardened. "And when a disease spreads, you don't look for patient zero. You purge the system. You remind everyone of the cost of defiance..."
His gaze landed on Ryota. "The Kendo team. Their captain, Nakamura. I've been told he refused to pay this month's 'club protection fee.'"
"He says the club budget is for equipment, not for..." Ryota began.
"I don't give a damn what he says," Kaito interrupted. "He is a symptom of the disease. He wants to be a hero. Show him what happens to heroes in the real world. I want him unable to hold a sword for at least a month. Do it after practice today. And keep it discreet."
The order was given. It wasn't an investigation; it was terrorism. A demonstration of brute force to stifle any glimpse of rebellion.
The news reached the rooftop via Haruna. Her contacts extended throughout the entire school.
"They're going after Nakamura. Kaito is sending a message. If we let this happen, everything we've done will have been for nothing. People will go back to being too afraid to even whisper."
"But how do we intervene?" asked Kenjiro. "This isn't an art contest. It's physical assault. We can't 'hack' a punch."
"And a media campaign won't stop Ryota and his goons in a locker room," Haruna added, looking at Hikari. "What's the plan, strategist? Are you going to 'stumble' into them again? I doubt that luck will work a third time."
Hikari had been silent, listening intently, staring at Yui's small plant, which had sprouted a new shoot.
"No," he said finally. "You're right. Luck is a finite resource. Chaos, however, is not."
He gave no further details. He simply said: "Haruna, I need you to watch from the second-floor hallway window facing the gym. Kenjiro, create a distraction. I want you to trigger the fire alarm in the east wing—the one furthest from the gym—at exactly 5:15 PM. Yui, you and I are going for a walk."
The plan was vague and dangerously dependent on timing, but they had no other choice.
At 5:10 PM, Kendo practice ended. Nakamura, a robust and strong-willed boy, headed to the locker rooms. Ryota and two other thugs followed him. Haruna, from her vantage point, felt a knot in her stomach.
The confrontation was swift. Ryota shoved Nakamura against the lockers.
"You think you're brave, Captain," he hissed. "Let's teach you something about flexibility. Starting with your fingers."
While two of them held Nakamura down, Ryota prepared to carry out his sadistic task.
At that precise moment, the locker room door burst open. Hikari entered, carrying a cardboard box full of basketballs. Behind him, Yui was holding a water bottle.
"Oh, sorry!" Hikari said with his usual clumsiness. "The coach asked us to put these away. I didn't know you guys were here."
His unexpected presence made the thugs hesitate for a second. In that second, at 5:15 on the dot, the alarm rang out across the school.
The sudden sound was the catalyst. Hikari, as if startled, jumped. The box of balls slipped from his hands. And then, physics became a weapon.
It wasn't a stumble. It was choreography.
Hikari, in an attempt to recover the box, took a false step onto a small puddle of water by the showers. His foot slipped, but not randomly. It slid in a perfect arc, sweeping the leg of the nearest thug. At the same time, his body, in a supposedly uncontrolled spin, struck the falling box.
The balls didn't just fall to the floor. They shot out of the box like projectiles. One struck Ryota in the back of the knees, knocking him off balance. Another ricocheted off a bench and slammed into the face of the third thug.
The first thug, swept by Hikari's foot, fell backward against the wall. The impact caused a poorly latched locker door to swing open, hitting him in the head with a loud clang. He was totally stunned.
Ryota, off-balance, stumbled backward to keep from falling. His foot landed directly on another ball rolling across the floor. The ball acted like a ball bearing, and Ryota's legs shot upwards. He fell flat on his back with brutal force, cracking his head against the floor. He was out cold.
The third thug, reeling from the blow to his face, took a wrong step, and his foot landed inside a bucket of water the cleaners had left behind. He lost his balance and fell face-first, sliding across the wet floor until he stopped at the feet of an astonished Nakamura.
The whole thing had lasted less than three seconds.
Hikari landed on the floor. "Are you guys okay?" he shouted over the alarm. "I slipped!"
From the hallway window, Haruna had seen it all. She saw the "slip." She saw the spin. She saw the strike on the box. And her blood ran cold. Her mind, trained to read people, saw something that wasn't human. The movement hadn't been an accident. It hadn't been clumsy. It had been fluid, precise... It was like watching a ballet dancer execute a killing move and then pretend he had tripped over the carpet.
Fear and awe battled within her.
She no longer wondered what Hikari Akihiko was.
The question had become much more terrifying.
What kind of monster are you?