Shirokuma High was unusually quiet that morning. Even the birds seemed to pause as Hiragi walked through the halls, hat tilted, eyes scanning every corner. Something told him today wouldn't be ordinary.
It started with small disturbances: a misplaced notebook here, a switched locker combination there, subtle hints that someone was watching and testing the students again. But this time, the incidents were connected in multiple layers—more intricate than before.
Hiragi called in five students who had reported or noticed anomalies over the past weeks:
Ren, the tech-savvy tinkerer. Airi, diligent student council member. Souta, the quiet observer. Yuna, from the music club, keen-eyed and detail-oriented. Taku, the chess prodigy, always analyzing patterns.
Instead of formal interrogation, Hiragi invited them to a study room, casually placing a few objects on the table: a broken pencil, a torn page, a faint ink smudge, and a misplaced key.
"These incidents aren't random," Hiragi began. "Each small disturbance is a piece of a larger puzzle. And someone is watching not only you, but all of us—me included."
Ren leaned forward. "So… this is like a game?"
Hiragi nodded slightly. "Exactly. But the rules are hidden. And every move you make reveals more about you than about the game itself."
Hiragi walked slowly around the room, observing subtle reactions: a twitch here, a blink there, a nervous glance. Each student had involuntary tells, tiny cracks in their composure that hinted at awareness—or guilt.
"The mastermind's goal is to see who notices, who acts, and who ignores the shadows," Hiragi continued. "The puzzle isn't about the incidents themselves… it's about perception."
He laid out a sequence on the table: the broken baseball bat, the missing artifacts, the poisoned tea, the midnight footprints, the minor disturbances. "Look closely. Patterns overlap, but misdirection is everywhere. Notice what is repeated, and what is omitted."
Yuna frowned, tracing the objects with her fingers. "So… the mastermind could be anyone who knows all our routines?"
Hiragi's eyes gleamed. "Yes. And the closer they are, the less obvious they appear. The more you trust what you see, the easier it is to be misled."
As the students processed this, a note slid under the door:
"The puzzle deepens. The shadow waits for the one who thinks they see everything."
No one moved. The silence was heavy. Hiragi picked up the note, eyes narrowing. "They want confusion. They want doubt. And they know we are watching them as much as they watch us."
By the time classes began, each student left with a growing unease. They realized the game wasn't about pranks or fear—it was about understanding the invisible web connecting every action.
Hiragi remained in the study room, reviewing the objects and notes. "The pieces are all here," he murmured. "And yet… the picture remains incomplete. Whoever controls this game is not just clever—they are patient, observing, and… closer than anyone imagines."