Chapter Text
"It's not reality that shapes us, but the lens through which we view the world that shapes our reality."
--𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙--
Back in her dorm, Kushida Kikyō didn't bother with the lights. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the bed, finally letting out the sigh she'd been holding in for a while.
To think... to think she'd see herself be so powerless.
She had always thought she'd be able to navigate her way out of even the stickiest situations. She certainly understood most people well enough to know what they wanted, what they feared, which buttons to push.
But tonight?
She was thoroughly outmatched, blindsided.
Kushida tried to adjust her position in bed, but winced as she tried to push herself up.
Her wrist ached.
She looked down at it. Touched the place where Ayanokōji's fingers had been. He'd grabbed her so easily—swatted her hand away like she was nothing, caught her when she stumbled, held her in place while she struggled and couldn't break free.
She'd tried. She'd tried to pull away, and she couldn't, and he hadn't even seemed to notice the effort.
Kushida pressed her thumb into the skin. It didn't bruise. It should have bruised. She wanted it to bruise so there would be proof that something had happened, that this was real, that—
That what?
That she could show someone?
She almost laughed. The sound came out wrong. Too high. She pressed her hand over her mouth and held it there until the urge passed.
The moment she saw him pull out his phone, she already knew she was cornered. Even if the hypothetical bruise did appear, she gained nothing by speaking out.
He had enough to spin the narrative convincingly. The recording was a tell that he was defending himself.
So until she found a way out—if there even were a way out—she would be forced to follow the whims of that bastard Ayanokōji.
It was rather simple: help him and the Class to reach Class A, and her secret would never see the light of day.
If that were the case, then it wouldn't be too bad. She could live with that. In fact, if their Class D could somehow make it all the way up, it would actually be a boon to her standing in school.
More prestige. More admiration. More of what she'd come here for. That sounded like heaven to her.
But... as she made her way back to her room earlier, a rattling realization sank in.
Ayanokōji's request had a major implication: he expected her to betray the class.
Because if he didn't expect that, if he thought she'd genuinely help on her own, why would he waste his leverage on such a simple goal?
Kushida bit her lip. It would have been great if he were just like any other boy...
Any other boy with what he had on her would've asked for the obvious. Sex. With that recording in his pocket, dragging her into his bed would've been easy.
And while she would hate having to do so, at least that would give her a way out. She knew she'd find an angle to wiggle out of being blackmailed.
She'd never let herself be cornered permanently.
The problem was... he wasn't any other boy.
Ayanokōji Kiyotaka was able to see through her. And it was just her luck that the boy had his eyes set on a goal that went against hers.
The beige-haired girl let out a hollow chuckle as she ran her hand through her hair.
How were you supposed to outmaneuver someone who could see through you? Someone who held the heaviest card in the deck?
Fuck...
The word came out quiet, bitter.
Kushida pulled her knees up onto the bed and wrapped her arms around them. The position felt childish. But she didn't care. No one could see her.
Then, tears came without buildup. No warning. Just wetness on her face, and then more, and then she was crying in a way that didn't feel like her—ugly, hitching sobs that she couldn't control.
She pressed her face into her knees and let it happen.
Stop, she thought. Stop. This is pathetic. You've clawed your way out of worse. You'll figure out a way to—
To what?
She tried to imagine it: finding leverage on Ayanokōji, turning the tables, getting out from under his control.
The fantasy collapsed before it started. She didn't know anything about him. She'd spent a month trying to get a read on him, and she had nothing. He was a blank wall. Meanwhile, he'd seen through her in weeks.
Maybe days... maybe from the very beginning.
The sobs got worse. She bit down on her sleeve to muffle them. It tasted of fabric and salt.
At some point, she ended up lying on her side. She didn't remember deciding to. Her body just did it, curling in on itself.
She remained in that state for hours.
She knew she should eat, knew she should shower, knew she should do something other than lie here in the dark, but the thought of moving felt impossible.
Because every time she closed her eyes, she would hear his voice.
"Would you rather have me turn your earlier threat into reality?"
She had unwittingly threatened him that she'd tell everyone he tried to rape her if he spread what he heard, and tried to be sardonic when he was dangling a carrot in front of her.
Kushida hated herself for thinking that perhaps she had brought this upon herself.
Then, another fragment of his voice returned in her head, calm and matter-of-fact: "And I know you wouldn't do anything about it. You'd accept that reality if it meant you could still get to live as everyone's angel."
Earlier, she had tried to respond. Tried to say something cutting, something that would put him back in his place. But her voice had cracked.
Because realization sank in.
He was right. He was right that she'd let him get away with whatever he could have done that moment.
Still, she tried to imagine the alternative: walking into the faculty office, saying the words out loud, watching their faces change. And then—because he'd have nothing left to lose—he'd release the recording.
Everyone would hear it. Horikita would hear it. The boys would hear it. Every girl who'd ever confided in her, every classmate who thought she was kind and gentle and safe, would hear the real Kushida Kikyō wishing death on another student with a voice like broken glass.
She imagined their expressions. The betrayal. The disgust. The way they'd look at her in the hallways, the whispers that would follow her for three years, the loneliness so total it would be like not existing at all.
And then she imagined what she would have chosen: staying quiet.
She would be going to class the next day with the same smile, performing the angel act like nothing had happened.
Something inside her would have died, sure, but everyone would still see her as the carefully crafted persona she worked hard to maintain.
It was, without a shred of doubt, the better option for her.
The tears fell down her face once again. She tried to think of other, more pleasant things— she couldn't.
He had even deduced her connection to Horikita... that they went to school together.
Just from watching. Just from paying attention to things she thought she'd hidden.
What else had he seen? How long had he been watching? Had he been cataloging her the whole time? Taking notes?
She thought she'd been the one observing him. Clearly, she was way over her head.
And so, she stopped resisting. For now.
At 11:30 that evening, her phone lit up.
The glow cut through the dark room. She didn't want to look... but she looked anyway.
[Ayanokōji Kiyotaka: Text the guys. Tell them we'll still hold the study group tomorrow. But it'll just be you and me tutoring them. Thanks.]
She stared at the message.
The thanks was almost funny. Thanks. Like she had a choice. Like this was a favor between friends.
Her fingers moved on autopilot. She wiped her face with her sleeve—pointless, she'd just cry again—and picked up the phone.
[Just you and me? What about Horikita?]
Ayanokōji immediately saw the text and began typing.
[Ayanokōji Kiyotaka: You already saw the disaster earlier.]
Yeah... the disaster you could have avoided if you didn't pair her with Sudō, Kushida thought.
That was another thing that didn't make sense. If he was able to see through her, then how did he make such a blunder like that? He should know Horikita and Sudō fit like oil and water.
The beige-haired girl then disregarded the thought. That was the least of her problems now.
[Right. Well, I'm on it, Ayanokōji-kun! I'll text them now.]
The exclamation point looked like something a happy person would write.
She hit send.
Then she opened her message thread with Ike. Her fingers moved on their own, typing out a message that was warm and friendly and slightly apologetic about the time. She added a few of the emojis she knew they liked.
She sent it, then performed the same routine for Yamauchi and Sudō.
Then she put the phone down and stared at the ceiling.
Her wrist still ached. She pressed her thumb into it again, feeling for something that wasn't there.
Tomorrow, she would go to the study group. She would smile at the boys. She would be patient, helpful, and kind. She would stand next to Ayanokōji and act like they were partners, like this was something she'd chosen, like she was still the person everyone thought she was.
She didn't know what would happen after that... couldn't even see past it.
For now, she just lay there in the dark, breathing.
Eventually, she closed her eyes.
But sleep didn't come.
--𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙--
The next morning, Kiyotaka arrived in their homeroom at his usual time — 7:30 AM.
The classroom was nearly empty. Most of his classmates had made noise about turning over a new leaf, but apparently, that resolve didn't extend to waking up early. He couldn't blame them, though. Motivation was easy to declare and hard to sustain.
"Ayanokōji-kun!" Hirata and Mii-chan greeted him as they spotted him.
He walked over to them. "Good morning."
"How did your study group go yesterday? You never did tell me," Hirata asked.
Mii-chan blinked, looking between them. "You ran a study group, Ayanokōji-kun?"
"Yeah. Sudō, Yamauchi, Ike, and Okitani were in it," he said. "It didn't end well, though. Sudō and Horikita argued."
"I can't say I'm surprised... but I hoped it didn't have to come to that," Hirata sighed.
Kiyotaka lifted a shoulder. "I can't do anything about what's already happened."
Hirata's expression tightened for a moment, then eased. "So, what are you going to do next?"
The boy knew Kiyotaka already had a plan in mind. It wasn't like him to be unprepared. Not when he had already given him plenty of advice moving forward.
"I asked Kushida for help. It's gonna be the two of us tutoring them," Kiyotaka answered.
Mii-chan brightened. "Oh, that's smart! They all like Kushida-san." She paused, then added with a small, self-conscious laugh, "I mean, everyone does, but especially those boys."
"Was it Kushida-san that you were texting earlier?" Hirata asked.
During their morning jog, Kiyotaka had spent more time watching his phone than the path ahead. Hirata had almost slowed down on reflex, ready to catch him if he stumbled. Not that he needed to, but it was just how Hirata was.
"Hmm? Oh yeah. She told me they would show up later," Kiyotaka confirmed.
"That's a relief." Hirata's shoulders loosened by a fraction.
For him, other people's problems were his own, which meant other people's solutions were his relief. It was an exhausting way to live, but he didn't seem to know any other.
However, the relief vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"But... what about Horikita-san? Wouldn't she be mad you're excluding her?" Hirata asked.
"I talked to her after the guys left. I don't think she cares about what happens to them. She won't lose sleep over this," Kiyotaka replied.
A practiced smile formed on Hirata's face. "I see. I'll take your word for it, Ayanokōji-kun."
"But I'll still try to find ways to get her involved. Don't worry about it," Kiyotaka assured Hirata.
The three of them talked idly until more of their classmates arrived. When the group grew noisy enough, Kiyotaka slipped back to his seat.
Huh... she's still not here, he thought as he glanced at Horikita's seat.
The girl usually arrived at around 8 AM. It had already been 10 minutes past 8.
Was she going to skip school, after all?
--𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙--
At 8:25 AM, Horikita made her way to class.
She looked as she always did—aloof, stern.
She took her seat without a word, set a small oval case on the desk, and slipped a pair of reading glasses on. From a distance, it just made her look more studious.
But as Kiyotaka looked up close, he saw the faint redness around her eyes. Luckily for Horikita, the glasses' frames were styled in a way that you could only notice the redness if you were extremely close to her.
"I'm glad you made it to class," he told her after a while.
The boy had to resist the urge to joke about her glasses being a tribute to her older brother. Such wisecracks didn't fit this time around.
"Why would I miss class?" she asked, not even bothering to meet his eyes.
"Right... I almost forgot you aren't a normal girl," he replied. So much for thinking this wasn't the time for wisecracks.
"Hmph... that's interesting coming from you, Ayanokōji-kun," she countered. "And also, a normal person would not miss class without a reason."
Although her words spelled out her irritation, her voice lacked the edge it usually had.
"So you're calling yourself normal?"
"I'm calling your thought process weird. Don't get that twisted," Horikita replied.
She didn't deny it, Kiyotaka thought. As much as he wanted to banter with her, however, he ultimately decided against continuing the banter.
Instead, he changed targets.
"The glasses actually fit you well," he muttered just loud enough for the girl to hear. "Are you gonna keep wearing that?"
For the first time that morning, Horikita faced him. "Why won't you just leave me alone?"
The question sounded more tired than angry. That told Kiyotaka enough.
"I apologize," he said. The apology was courteous—nothing more.
Horikita nodded, then took a notebook out of her bag.
He regarded her for a moment longer, then let his gaze drift back to the rest of the class.
--𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙--
At lunch, Kiyotaka had Kushida invite him out in front of Horikita, under the pretext of talking about the study group. He prompted her to do so earlier in the morning, while he was jogging with Hirata.
As expected, Horikita paused just long enough to understand she'd been left out of the study group, then walked away without a word.
Kushida was mildly amused at the reaction. She thought the girl felt betrayed at being left out.
But Kiyotaka knew that wasn't the case.
Horikita had too much on her plate right now to worry about a study group that didn't even interest her. She most likely listened in because she found it odd how Kushida only asked him out, and was curious what was up with that.
Still, he said nothing to correct Kushida's assumptions. It was probably better for her to think that way.
Right now, it was their last subject period of the day. Chemistry.
He had always thought it was a bad idea to hold such a technical subject in the last period. By that time, students generally didn't have the capacity to retain information long-term.
"Now, when balancing chemical equations," their teacher said, writing CH₄ + O₂ → CO₂ + H₂O on the board, "you adjust the coefficients until both sides have equal numbers of each atom. Let's try this combustion reaction: methane plus oxygen."
"So we balance the carbons first, then hydrogens, then oxygen last, since it appears in multiple products..."
Kiyotaka had already tuned out. Not because the content was beneath him—though it was—but because he was solving a different problem.
How would you explain this to Sudō?
The teacher's explanation was correct. Balance carbons first, then hydrogens, then oxygen. But that assumed you understood why that order worked, which meant understanding that oxygen appeared in multiple compounds on the right side, which meant visually parsing the formula and tracking element distribution across the equation.
Sudō wouldn't do any of that. He'd hear "carbon, hydrogen, oxygen" and treat it like a magic chant. Then the next problem would scramble the order, and he'd apply the same chant and get it wrong.
Kiyotaka flipped to a blank page in his notebook, then wrote down his solution to the problem—annotated until it reached the balanced chemical equation of CH₄ + 2O₂ → CO₂ + 2H₂O.
The real principle was simple: you couldn't create or destroy atoms, only move them around. Pick an element that shows up in just one place on each side, and you find out that it was easy to match. Save the element that's scattered across multiple compounds for last, since its count will shift as you adjust other things.
It was simple enough to understand, but complicated for someone like Sudō.
And so, while the teacher continued to drone on his monologue about chemistry, Kiyotaka tried putting himself in the redhead's shoes.
How would I understand this lesson if I were an idiot?
Balancing chemical equations wasn't always about something as simple as CH₄ + O₂ → CO₂ + H₂O. There would be problems where it'd take even an intelligent student a minute to solve.
Then, it hit him: codes.
Reliable guidelines on what to follow if his brain became overwhelmed and released nothing but steam. Now... what would those codes be?
After a few minutes of thinking and reconstructing everything he knew about the topic, Kiyotaka began writing a series of cheat codes that even the redhead could understand.
Kiyotaka closed his notebook. In the coming days, he'd walk through these steps with Kushida, let her rehearse them until they sounded natural coming from her.
After all, he did have her text the boys that both of them would be teaching.
Up front, the teacher was still explaining common multiples. Glancing around, Kiyotaka saw half the class had the same blank look as Sudō... the one from five minutes ago, at least. The redhead was already fast asleep.
...This class really was filled with people who didn't want to think, he thought.
--𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙--
As classes for the day ended, Kiyotaka headed to the library alongside Kushida, Okitani, and the Idiot Trio.
Originally, they'd only planned to teach the three idiots. Okitani had been there as Kushida's accessory to lure Horikita in, not as a serious tutee. But surprisingly, the effeminate boy reached out to Kiyotaka last night, asking if he could still get study pointers from Kiyotaka.
Apparently, his little display yesterday made Okitani a believer.
Kiyotaka saw no problem in continuing to teach him. The boy was pleasant enough and should help break the monotony of idiocy from time to time.
The six of them walked through the hallway—Kushida up front with Yamauchi and Ike flanking her sides, chattering at her like usual. Kiyotaka, Sudō, and Okitani trailed about three or four feet behind.
"So... is Horikita-san no longer teaching?" Okitani asked quietly, his natural shyness keeping his voice low.
"She better not be! Not after yesterday," Yamauchi replied.
Kiyotaka ignored him. "Just for now," he told Okitani. "But the handouts we'll be going over later still came from her."
"O-oh... I see."
Up ahead, Kushida slowed her pace, and the front group slowed with her. The distance between them closed naturally as she came to a stop and turned to face all five boys.
"I know what happened yesterday was really awful," she said, her eyes moving across the group before settling somewhere around Sudō's shoulder. "But I hope you guys won't completely hate her. She felt bad about it, so she asked Ayanokōji-kun and me to give you some notes to go over. She did her best to make it sound simple."
That was the script Kiyotaka had directed to her during lunchtime. The boy knew Kushida didn't like the instruction, but he didn't really care how she felt about it. He just needed her to get things done.
"She did?" Sudō's voice was flat. "Whatever. Doesn't change a thing."
Kiyotaka glanced at him sideways. "Her notes will probably increase your chances of passing."
"Only because it's you and Kushida teaching us. Not because of that bitch," he spat out.
Naturally, Sudō hadn't gotten over Horikita's demolition of his character. It was one thing to call him an idiot; it was another thing to spit on his dream and question his dedication. And wounds like that didn't close in a day.
They started walking again, the group reforming as they continued down the hall.
"Regardless, I'm just glad you guys still showed up for this afternoon," Kushida said. "I was worried you guys might not show up again."
Ike straightened up immediately. "If Kushida-chan's asking, there's no way I'd say no!" He thumped his chest with his fist. "In fact, I'm super motivated to study hard today!"
"Yeah, me too!" Yamauchi immediately agreed.
As they walked, Kiyotaka gradually drifted forward during the exchange, the natural flow of conversation pulling him closer to the front until he was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with Kushida.
"You're as popular as ever, Kushida," he observed.
She laughed and nudged his arm with her elbow—a casual, familiar gesture. "Don't tease me, Ayanokōji-kun."
From behind, Kiyotaka heard Ike muttering to Yamauchi about him being a traitor.
So that was how it felt to be genuinely envied...
Then, his thoughts turned toward the girl next to him.
It was actually impressive how easy it was for Kushida to slide back into the normal that she was used to. The nudge, the playful tone—all performed as naturally as breathing.
He knew the girl must have been wishing him death before she went to bed last night, and yet here she was, showing the group that they'd somehow become more comfortable with each other.
That was just like her, alright.
--𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙--
The study group had, against all odds, settled into a rhythm.
Sudō, for example, was able to score in the mid-30s in some practice sets that they've been made to answer over the past six days.
Terrible, but for someone with the fundamentals of an elementary schooler, that was a massive leap. Yamauchi and Ike were also able to make significant leaps themselves, scoring just slightly higher than the redhead.
Of course, that was because Kiyotaka happened to be an incredibly effective tutor.
Kushida's presence helped too. A kind, beautiful girl sitting across the table and offering mentorship did wonders for male motivation.
They sat straighter. They complained less. They lied more convincingly about "getting it" just to keep her impressed. Not that they fooled her.
In a way, they were proving Horikita right. The study group didn't need her to succeed. Kiyotaka could replace her role just fine.
That wasn't to say that Horikita was useless, though. In the original timeline, Horikita did try her best to be as meticulous as possible, and she did improve the academic ability of the three to a degree.
However, her methods were best suited for students who already had a baseline. She wouldn't be able to draw everything out of them because teaching idiots was an art form.
With the Idiot Trio, you weren't working with slow students; you were teaching students who—from an academic standpoint—were fundamentally behind by a few years.
That was why Kiyotaka had modified their lessons in a way that they could easily understand. He spoke their languages.
To Sudō, he could relate some concepts to basketball. To Yamauchi and Ike, he could help them visualize situations by using analogies they'd appreciate. And he provided them with cheat codes that would bail them out of a difficult question.
Still, despite making respectable strides, they were far from being able to pass on their own. Only Okitani—who wasn't supposed to be part of the group—performed well. You could only do so much in under a week.
Not that Kiyotaka was incredibly worried about it. His future memories had given him guidance on what to do next.
Pushing the thought of the study group aside for a moment, something notable happened last week that didn't happen in the original timeline.
On Friday, Chabashira had informed Class D that the midterm's topic coverage had been changed by the school.
From his memories, she had only informed them the next week when she was confronted by Horikita and the rest of the study group, after the group—actually just Sudō—had an altercation with Class C.
That deviation made Kiyotaka believe that Chabashira had chosen to believe his earlier claim of wanting to reach Class A. If not that, then she was placing little hope into Class D to see what the class could do.
With that, he decided to make handouts containing the new coverage of the test over the weekends and distributed them not just to his study group, but to Hirata's as well. It might sound altruistic, but he rationalized that a higher score for Class D would benefit his plans.
Still... he didn't expect the mere act of distributing handouts to have this much of an effect.
Just minutes after sending the attachments to Hirata, more than a few of their classmates had sent him messages thanking him for his hard work.
A few had noted how the handouts made everything simpler than they thought, and they were now confident they'd be able to understand the concepts.
That was because his handouts were designed for the biggest idiots in their class. The dumbed-down, but nevertheless accurate means of delivering the lesson ensured that the more middling students, or even those who barely failed, would definitely have an easier time understanding them.
And by Monday morning, the gratitude had already migrated from his phone into his actual life. Classmates were actively greeting him whenever they spotted him. They typically only did that to friends, Kushida, or Hirata.
It made him wonder how Hirata framed his messages to their classmates.
Well, he did see one message from a screenshot Sotomura had sent him on Saturday: "Ayanokōji-kun stayed up making these for everyone."
It explained the messages he got, but that didn't explain how it elevated his status so quickly. There was probably another text that he sent to the girls.
For what reason, he had no idea.
"You're a godsend, Ayanokōji-kun! I think I could definitely score 60 in the midterms!" Satō had leaned into his desk the moment she arrived in their homeroom and immediately showed her gratitude.
Behind her, Onodera Kayano—perhaps the most athletic girl in their class—nodded her head along.
Onodera also made the fifth girl, with whom Kiyotaka wasn't close, who approached him since he arrived in their homeroom.
"Yeah! It was cool of you to share your handouts," Onodera added.
"I really just did what a classmate would have done if they knew their classmates were struggling. Besides, we were all caught off guard by the sudden change in exam coverage. I felt like I had to do something," Kiyotaka replied.
"Hirata-kun told us you'd say something like that," Satō said, pointing at him teasingly. "But you still worked hard, so we're going to say thank you anyway. Right, Onodera-san?"
Onodera nodded along again.
Kiyotaka found it ironic how Satō was allying with a girl she didn't like just to prove a point to him.
"Alright, then I'll accept your thanks. Just make sure you actually study the handouts," he replied.
"Oh, we will!" Satō replied, smiling at him one more time before she began talking to her other friends. Onodera also left shortly after the brown-haired girl did.
In moments like these, he wondered if he was better off maintaining the background character persona that his future self assumed. If only because he wouldn't have to deal with meaningless conversations such as these.
But then again, it was a small price to pay to make everyone more accepting of his plans moving forward.
Horikita, who arrived just in time to see the interaction unfold in full, found the right timing to speak. "Did you distribute handouts just so girls could shower you with praise? I didn't expect that from you, Ayanokōji-kun."
Kiyotaka raised a brow at the remark. Over the past week, Horikita had remained in a slump, simply going through the motions with each passing day. And while they bantered from time to time, it still lacked the usual energy it used to have.
This time, the bite had returned somewhat.
"You have quite the rotten mind, Horikita. If that's the case, did you perhaps send me handouts last week so I could shower you with praise?" he countered.
"I sent them so you could try and teach idiots," she spat out. "But as it turns out, I didn't need to do so because you were capable of making them yourself. And I quote, "I think I could definitely score 60 in the midterms." That's some praise for your work."
So it was about that, huh? Kiyotaka initially thought that Horikita had found a temporary answer to her problems, but as it turned out, she regained her fire from another thing altogether.
"Satō was exaggerating. I don't think my handouts are capable of that. They actually have to study before they can reach that score. I blame Hirata for that reaction," he replied.
The response actually made Horikita pause for a moment.
"I see. So it was Hirata-kun who distributed them on your behalf. That leads me back to my question a week ago—what's the point of us working together? You could still get the same results you were hoping for, working with Hirata-kun or Kushida-san..."
Then, she paused for a bit, closing her eyes and letting out a silent sigh. "I apologize. This isn't a conversation to make inside the classroom," she said.
"Then talk to me during lunch," Kiyotaka said. "Only if that's amenable to you, of course."
"I refuse," Horikita quickly denied him.
Kiyotaka didn't give up. But he didn't press the way most people did, piling words on top of words.
He simply changed the hook.
"If I'm being honest, I'm more interested in talking to you about what happened on Tuesday night," he said.
Horikita's stare sharpened instantly.
"Why would you think I want to talk about that?" she said. "Surely you can't be that dense."
"It's because I believe I've understood what your brother was talking about when he spoke to me," Kiyotaka replied.
Horikita glared at him. "I believed I understood him before, too, but as it'd always turn out, I didn't understand a thing. Don't speak as if you understand my brother."
"Well... do you understand him?"
At her silence, Kiyotaka pressed on.
"Join me for lunch. It wouldn't hurt to hear for yourself if I'm just spouting nonsense... or if I knew something you don't."
Horikita's glare remained.
She didn't want to go. That much was obvious. Not because she didn't care, but because going meant accepting that she wanted something from him.
And Horikita Suzune hated needing anything from another person. But Kiyotaka would like to think that he raised her evaluation of him enough for her to at least try and hear him out.
"...Fine," she said at last, clipped.
Kiyotaka nodded at her, then turned his gaze elsewhere. His thoughts remained with Horikita, however.
After observing her state for a week since the incident with her older brother, Kiyotaka had decided that it was enough time to let Horikita wander by herself.
By now, she should have arrived at some answers to her questions. Might have even formed a new resolve moving forward.
But as much as it'd be poetic justice for Horikita to solve her problems on her own, he wasn't intending to just leave her alone. She was far too important for the future to leave unchecked.
--𝕽𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙--
When the lunch bell rang, Kiyotaka and Horikita swiftly made their way to the cafeteria.
They managed to secure an inconspicuous rectangular table a few feet away from the exit. Not private, but enough that their conversation would drown in the ambient noise around them.
Kiyotaka had already opened the lid of the meal set he bought.
Horikita, meanwhile, had her own boxed lunch still sitting unopened in front of her, as if to say she wouldn't hesitate to leave if this turned out to be a waste of time.
"Well? Aren't you going to talk?" she asked as she watched him take a couple of bites from his meal.
Kiyotaka met her eyes for a second. Took another bite. Chewed slowly.
Then he set his chopsticks down.
"I wouldn't have agreed to work with you if I saw no point to it," he began.
Horikita glared at him. "Do you think me an idiot? I didn't come here to hear you deflect once again. You claimed to have understood what nii-san meant last week. That's what I want to hear."
Kiyotaka knew she came here for another thing altogether. But at least she couldn't tell him later how he ignored her first concern.
"Well?"
"'I hope you could succeed where I failed,'" he said. "That was what your brother told me before he left."
Horikita's eyes narrowed, but she didn't interrupt.
"When I asked you what he meant, you said he tends to say things halfway. That he's never direct." Kiyotaka paused. "I think you're wrong."
"Excuse me?"
"He didn't explain anything," Kiyotaka continued. "But he was direct about the result he wanted."
"And what result is that?"
"For you to stop following him."
"I'm not following him."
"Is that so? Then why did you choose this school?" Kiyotaka asked. "Why not any of the other elite programs in the country? With your abilities, you'd easily make it to all of them. You'd even be labeled as exceptional. But still, you chose this school."
"Isn't it natural to pick the very best? You're not making much sense, Ayanokōji-kun."
He could recognize the annoyance in her voice as the kind she deployed when she wanted a conversation to end.
It wouldn't work on him, though.
"That's what I thought at first, too. But you had this strange fixation on reaching Class A. Then it hit me last week." He watched her face as he spoke. "Somehow, you thought it would be the way to gain your brother's approval. You thought that if you achieved what he did, he'd finally be proud of you."
Horikita remained silent. Her eyes narrowed further, but she didn't look away. She was waiting for him to overreach, to say something she could dismantle.
He didn't give her the opening.
"I have my own reasons for aiming at Class A," she said at last.
"Do you?"
"Of course I do."
"What? The guarantee this school offers to Class A graduates?" Kiyotaka asked. "You're way too assured of your abilities to desperately chase after a guaranteed safeguard."
He picked up his chopsticks, took another bite, and continued as though he was just discussing the weather. "Tuesday night made it hard not to see it this way: that your ambition is rooted in imitation."
The words landed.
Horikita's fingers curled against the edge of the table. For a moment, her mask of aloofness slipped.
Then: "You don't know anything about my relationship with my brother."
"No," he agreed. "I don't."
She hadn't expected that. She'd prepared for an argument, not a concession.
Kiyotaka picked up his chopsticks again. "But I know what he said to you that night. And I know what he did when you refused."
Horikita's hand drifted toward her ribs before she caught herself. The bruise had long faded. The memory hadn't.
"If he didn't care about you following his path," Kiyotaka said, "he would've just ignored you. Kept his distance until graduation and never looked back. That would've been the easy thing." He took a bite, chewed, swallowed. "Instead, he told you to stop chasing him. And when that didn't work, he put you on the ground."
"Maybe he just lost his temper because I defied him."
But it was clear she didn't believe her own words.
"Did he?"
Horikita said nothing.
"You know him better than I do," Kiyotaka continued. "So tell me—is your brother the type to lose control? To lash out without thinking?"
Still nothing. Her silence was answer enough.
"Cruelty without purpose isn't his style. Is it?"
Horikita's jaw tightened, but she didn't rebut. That was confirmation enough for Kiyotaka.
"He made sure you'd remember what it felt like to reach for him," he said. "That kind of approach doesn't come from a whim, but from intent."
"What..." She stopped. Then, started again. "You're making him sound like some kind of—"
"Some kind of what?"
"Some kind of idiot."
Her voice cracked on the last word. She pressed her lips together, as if trying to physically hold back what came next. It didn't work.
"If he wanted me to stop, why didn't he just say so? He had years. Years. Why let me believe—"
She took a few breaths, trying to regain control over herself.
Kiyotaka waited for her to speak.
When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.
"Why let me think the only way to matter to him was to become him? Why couldn't he just... care?"
Kiyotaka allowed the silence to stretch. He didn't have the answer to that. At least, not in the way Horikita would believe.
And in the silence, her mind did something worse—it went looking. Every conversation she could remember. Every rare moment he'd acknowledged her existence. She searched for one time he'd looked at what she'd done and shown his approval.
But despite all the reaching, she came up empty.
"I don't know," Kiyotaka said at last.
Horikita looked up.
Whatever vestige of anger she had at the start of their conversation had already vanished.
She thought wrong. He wasn't pretending to understand her brother better than she did.
No... he was forcing her to confront years of indifference she'd reframed as reserved approval. Silence she'd interpreted as a challenge to try harder. Distance she'd convinced herself would close once she finally proved worthy.
"Maybe he did care and believed you'd get his intentions by simply pushing you away. Or maybe it didn't cross his mind that he hadn't allowed you to understand him. I don't know what happened between you before this school, so I can't say for certain."
He set his chopsticks down, aligned them precisely against the tray. "But I can tell you what it looked like from where I stood: a man who'd already decided words wouldn't work."
"So he decided to hurt me instead, is that what you're saying? I heard you the first time, Ayanokōji-kun." She seemed almost offended.
"No. I'm saying maybe he decided to make you hate him."
Horikita went still.
"Think about it," Kiyotaka said. "If you hated him, you'd stop chasing him. Not because you finally understood, but because you wouldn't want to anymore. He was willing to let you see him as a monster... willing to destroy your image of him completely... if it meant you'd finally move on your own."
Horikita wanted nothing more than to find a flaw in his reasoning. She was good at finding flaws—it was what she did, it was how she kept the world at a manageable distance. But every thread she pulled only tightened the knot of his theory. Every memory she tested fit the shape he'd drawn.
"That's... that's insane," she muttered.
It truly was. Because it didn't need to be this way.
If only... if only her brother, for all his genius, had thought of communicating with her.
She thought she'd probably understand if he had done so. Wouldn't like it at first—what kid would like being told no?—but she'd understand eventually.
"I agree. But what are you gonna do about it?"
Around them, the ordinary chaos of lunch hour continued, but none of it reached their table anymore. There was only the space between them, and the shape of everything he'd said hanging in the air.
Horikita stared at her unopened lunch. At the table. At nothing.
"I don't want to hate nii-san."
The words came out smaller than she intended. She hadn't meant to say them at all—hadn't even realized she was going to speak until the sentence was already in the air between them.
"Then don't," he bluntly replied.
He took another bite, chewed, swallowed. "You can understand what he did without forgiving it. You can see his reasons without agreeing with them. You don't have to hate him just because he expects you to. But really, it's all up to you now."
Horikita's voice came out bitter. "If it were up to me... I wouldn't hate him. I never could... But wouldn't he just be disappointed in me again?"
"You're not obligated to give him what he expected." Kiyotaka glanced at her. "If you truly believe you're your own person, then decide based on your own feelings."
Horikita sat motionless. It seemed as though she was finally facing a door she didn't know existed.
What door it was, Kiyotaka didn't know. But he let it happen nevertheless.
After all, this was what he'd wanted from this conversation all along: to see the machinery of her mind turning in a new direction.
After a long moment, she stood. Picked up her unopened lunch and bowed slightly.
"Thank you, Ayanokōji-kun. You've given me a lot to think about." Her voice was steady again. Controlled. "If you'll excuse me... I'd like to process this on my own."
She didn't wait for his response.
Kiyotaka watched her cross the cafeteria. Her posture was straight, her pace measured... just like the Horikita Suzune he knew.
But just as she made it to the exit, he saw her hand brush briefly across her face.
Then, he turned to his food. Whatever came next was now for Horikita to decide. He had done his part.
End of Chapter