The after-school crowd flowed like a river toward the dormitories. Within its current, Sakamoto and Kamuro moved as a separate, silent eddy. Kamuro walked with her head bowed, a curtain of purple hair obscuring her expression. Her fingers worried the strap of her bag, and her steps were stiff, out of sync with the fluid pace beside her. Several times she glanced sideways at Sakamoto, her lips parting as if to speak, only to close again, swallowing the unformed words. A week's worth of secret knowledge sat like a stone in her chest, but the path to dislodging it felt steep and treacherous.
Sakamoto, in contrast, moved with undisturbed composure. His gaze remained forward, his expression placid. He gave no sign of noticing her turmoil, or perhaps he was simply waiting—with infinite, unnerving patience—for her to find the courage herself.
For Sakayanagi Arisu, trailing them, the experience was a unique kind of strain. Leaning on her cane, she had to balance distance with vigilance, her constitution ill-suited for sustained pursuit. The effort quickened her breath, beading fine sweat at her temples. Each tap of her cane on the uneven path required precise control to avoid sound or stumble. The physical demand, layered atop intense focus, frayed her usual icy composure. Shadowing is not my forte, she acknowledged inwardly, a flicker of frustration in her silver eyes.
Finally, they passed into the quieter dormitory zone. The crowd thinned, replaced by the orderly calm of tree-lined walks and uniform buildings.
Ahead, Sakamoto stopped.
He turned to face the still-distracted Kamuro beside him. "Kamuro-san," he said, his voice breaking the long silence with calm clarity. "You mentioned you had something to discuss?"
His tone held no pressure, only simple inquiry.
Kamuro jolted as if awakened. Her head snapped up, her eyes darting to ensure their relative privacy. She took a sharp, steadying breath.
"Sakamoto-kun." Her voice was low but forcefully clear, all hesitation burned away by resolve. "There is something I must tell you. I apologize for waiting this long."
Another breath, then the words came in a rushed, confessional stream:
"Last week. The afternoon of the second day. I overheard a conversation in that unused corridor on the third floor. It was Sakayanagi Arisu from our class… and Ryūen Kakeru from Class C."
She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a fervent whisper. "Sakayanagi was trading core information about 'class points' in exchange for Ryūen gathering intelligence on you. They're… they seem to be collaborating to target you. I heard their arrangement."
She swallowed, her purple eyes wide and fixed on his face. "I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if I should believe it… so I kept it to myself until now. I'm so sorry, Sakamoto-kun."
The confession hung in the quiet air. A week's burden had been dropped in a single, breathless moment. She stood waiting, her chest rising and falling, braced for his judgment.
Behind the thick trunk of a nearby cherry tree, Sakayanagi Arisu's grip on her cane turned bone-white. Her pupils constricted.
Not at the betrayal itself, but at the revelation of the witness. That afternoon… she was there. She had believed the corridor deserted, the transaction sealed in secrecy. But walls had ears, and those ears belonged to the quiet, unassuming girl she had scarcely noticed.
The puzzle pieces of Kamuro's recent behavior—her anxious vigilance, her strained attention toward Sakamoto—snapped into a new, coherent picture. This wasn't loyalty bred of subordination. It was the guilt of a bystander, the fearful conscience of someone who had stumbled upon a conspiracy and didn't know how to intervene.
And with that clarity came a second, colder realization.
Ryūen Kakeru.
The information he had sold her was not merely exaggerated—it was a complete, deliberate fabrication. He had taken a grain of truth—Kamuro's unusual behavior—and weaponized it into a lie designed to sow paranoia and prompt a reckless move on her part. He had played her, not as a pawn, but as a provocateur.
The hunter in the shadows now understood she, too, had been hunted.
The realization hit Sakayanagi like a physical blow: Ryūen had used her. He had taken a sliver of truth and woven it into a trap, aiming to manipulate her into acting against Sakamoto. Anger—cold and sharp—flared at the deception, but it was quickly overtaken by a wave of icy relief. I did not fall for it completely.
But in that moment of internal upheaval, as her mind reeled from Kamuro's confession and its implications, Sakamoto's reaction cut through her thoughts.
He showed none of the expected shock, outrage, or even gratitude. He merely offered a slight, acknowledging nod, his voice as even as still water.
"I see. Thank you for informing me, Kamuro-san."
The blandness of his response was itself disorienting. It suggested either foreknowledge or profound indifference—both possibilities were unsettling to the two women listening.
Then, he did something utterly unforeseen.
Without another word to Kamuro, he turned. His steps, measured and deliberate, carried him not away, but directly toward the tree where Sakayanagi hid.
Her mind, still reeling, snapped into focus too late. He was already upon her, his gaze unmistakably fixed on her concealed position. Panic sparked—she had to retreat, to vanish back into the scenery.
In her haste, her foot shifted. Perhaps it was the distraction, or a slick patch of decaying leaves, or the simple fatigue from the prolonged pursuit—but the tip of her cane skidded out from under her.
"Ah—!"
A short, involuntary gasp escaped her lips as her balance disintegrated. The ground rushed up to meet her, humiliation and the sharp anticipation of impact intertwining.
Yet the impact never came.
In a blur of motion, a hand shot out—its trajectory preternaturally precise—and closed firmly around the shaft of her cane, arresting its flight. Simultaneously, another hand found her opposite elbow through the fabric of her sleeve, applying a steady, corrective force.
The support was perfectly calibrated, halting her fall and righting her with an efficiency that felt almost mechanical. There was no fumbling, no undue contact—just swift, neutral stabilization.
Sakayanagi found herself standing upright, her breath coming in shallow, unsteady draws. She looked up into a pair of calm, dark eyes mere inches from her own.
Sakamoto stood before her, one hand still steadying her cane, the other already withdrawn to his side. His expression was unreadable.
"Sakayanagi-san," he said, his voice a model of polite concern. "Do watch your footing."
His gaze shifted slightly, indicating a point just behind her. A brittle, dead branch, overhanging the path, chose that exact moment to snap with a dry crack, falling precisely where she had been about to stumble.
"Additionally," he continued, his eyes returning to hers, "this area is prone to falling debris. It would be prudent for you to depart."
He released her cane, the gesture as natural as breathing, as if he had merely performed a minor courtesy for a stranger. The implicit message, however, was unmistakable: he had known she was there all along, and his intervention was less a rescue and more a pointed demonstration of control—over the situation, and over her.