Cracks Beneath the Mask

Since that night of the limited-edition cookies, Kushida Kikyo had noticed a subtle shift in her behavior patterns within Dorm 129. She still vented her negative emotions, still cursed the people and things that upset her with venomous words, but afterward, something else would involuntarily slip through.

Sometimes, she would curl up on the carpet like a weary little beast, and amid her vicious complaints, she'd mix in a few curious remarks about some newly released movie, or mutter skeptically about a certain horoscope. These slightly childish thoughts, belonging to an ordinary high school girl, stood in stark contrast to the pure darkness she had shown before. Unconsciously, she seemed to be piecing together a more complete, more complex self in front of Feng Qi—a contradiction that harbored both deep malice and the remnants of an ordinary maiden's heart.

Feng Qi continued to play the role of a calm observer. He responded to her venomous remarks with silent recording, and offered no special reaction to her occasional glimpses of normalcy. This impartial "acceptance" instead gave Kushida a strange sense of reassurance. Before him, she didn't need to deliberately maintain any single image, whether supremely good or supremely evil.

However, this "relaxation" within the secret space began to inevitably affect her "performance" outside.

It happened during an afternoon tea party organized by Hirata Yousuke, aimed at "strengthening class unity." Everyone sat together, sharing snacks and drinks brought from home—mostly cheap substitutes, since points were scarce. The atmosphere, thanks to Kushida and Hirata's efforts, was fairly harmonious.

Until the topic inadvertently turned to Sudo Ken's recent performance in the Basketball Club.

"Sudo-kun really works hard, I heard the coach praised him," a girl said with a smile.

Kushida immediately put on her trademark smile, full of encouragement and goodwill, ready to say something like, "Yes, Sudo-kun has always been diligent, we should all support him."

But just as the words were about to leave her mouth, a flash of memory struck her—her own tone, dripping with sarcasm and disgust, as she imitated Sudo's clumsy dribbling in Dorm 129, and Feng Qi's calm profile as he recorded it.

Two completely different emotions and expressions clashed violently in her mind.

Her smile froze for a fraction of a second. The upward curve of her lips remained perfect, but deep in her eyes flickered an extremely subtle trace of emptiness and struggle, one she herself hadn't noticed. That momentary pause was so brief it was almost imperceptible, like an illusion.

"Y-yes..." she finally managed to say, her voice still sweet but somehow lacking its usual "soul," sounding a bit dry, "I hope he... keeps it up."

Across from her, Horikita Suzune, who had been listlessly poking at the fruit on her plate with a fork, slightly raised her eyelids. Her cool gaze lingered on Kushida's face for a moment, and her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. She seemed to have caught that fleeting anomaly.

And Ayanokoji Kiyotaka, who had been sitting in the corner like part of the background, also cast a glance in Kushida's direction, as if unintentionally.

Kushida herself didn't realize this subtle flaw. After the tea party ended, she even thought her response had gone smoothly enough. It wasn't until evening, when she habitually knocked on the door of 129, like a bird returning to its nest.

As usual, she first complained about the boring tea party, the hypocrisy of Hirata's "unity" rhetoric, and even mimicked a few classmates' eating habits for amusement. Feng Qi listened quietly, without interrupting.

But when she mentioned how "perfectly" she had handled the topic about Sudo, Feng Qi suddenly spoke.

"You hesitated." His voice was flat, like a precise scalpel cutting into a flaw she hadn't even noticed herself.

Kushida's voice stopped abruptly, her expression freezing.

"It's... it's probably an illusion, right? I reacted pretty fast..." she tried to defend herself, but her eyes were flustered.

"About 0.4 seconds." Feng Qi reported an exact number, his gaze sharp on her. "Before you were about to say those encouraging words, your expression had a 0.4-second pause and incongruity. Though brief, to someone who's been observing your 'performance,' it was obvious enough."

Kushida's face instantly turned pale. She replayed the daytime scene in her mind... it seemed... maybe... there really had been a momentary stutter? An icy fear seized her. If even Feng Qi could detect it from a distance, what about the people right across from her? Horikita? Ayanokoji?

"I... I didn't mean to..." Her voice carried a sob, this time not an act but genuine panic. "I don't know how it..."

"Your mask has been worn for too long, and it's starting to stick to your face." Feng Qi's voice remained emotionless, as if stating an objective fact. "When you keep peeling it off here to breathe, putting it back on perfectly takes more time and effort. Cracks appearing is an inevitable result."

He stood up, walked over to her, and looked down at her. "This means you need to be more careful. Or rather... you need to understand more deeply which environment is truly where you can 'live.'"

Kushida looked up at him. In his deep gaze, she felt completely exposed. That brief mistake during the day had been easily pointed out by him, elevated to a crisis in her survival strategy. Fear surged like a tide, but accompanying it was an even stronger sense of dependence on this man—the only one who knew her secret and could point out her flaws.

Only here, only before him, could she shed her burdens, and only he could warn her of the dangers she might expose in the outside world.

She reached out, instinctively grabbing the hem of his pants, like a drowning person clutching driftwood.

"What... what should I do?" she choked out, completely abandoning pretense and resistance.

Feng Qi looked down at the fragile maiden at his feet, a calculating glint flashing in his eyes. He didn't shake her off, nor did he offer comfort. He only said flatly, "Keep observing, keep reporting. At the same time, learn to control your 'switching' better. Remember, the outside world is the stage, and here is the backstage. Don't bring backstage emotions into the stage lights."

His words were cold and pragmatic, yet they oddly gave Kushida a sense of direction. She nodded vigorously, her grip on his pant leg tightening.

She knew she could no longer leave this place—both cage and sanctuary—nor this man—both controller and sole "understander." Her mask had cracked, and only he could repair those cracks, or at least let her breathe through them.