Despair Spreads and the Hunter's Patience

Five thousand private points, a number that hung over every Class D student like a cruel joke, especially for Karuizawa Kei. Faced with the unavoidable costs of survival, those meager five thousand points vanished at a visible rate, bringing a suffocating sense of pressure. For the first time, she truly understood what "poverty" meant. It wasn't just the regret of not being able to buy desired items, but the panic of even maintaining basic dignity teetering on the brink.

She tried every method within her understanding that didn't cross her own bottom line to earn extra points, each attempt like futilely banging against a hard wall.

Her budgeting became excessively meticulous. For days on end, she subsisted on the cheapest, almost unseasonable free mountain vegetable set meal at the cafeteria, swallowing the bland food as if chewing on wood, trying to save every last point from between her teeth. However, this self-abusive frugality was a drop in the bucket for the "glamorous" appearance she needed to maintain, the necessary skincare products, the occasional need to replace cheap but decent accessories, and the unspoken, potential threats that might require points to "appease" or "silence" at any moment. It was laughably insufficient.

She had also mustered great courage, setting aside some of the pride she maintained in her small social circle, and made extremely subtle, probing requests to members who were slightly more distant and seemed to have more disposable points. She didn't dare ask to borrow money directly, merely hinting at her tight point situation and the hardships of her life, hoping they would offer assistance. Yet, most of the responses were helpless, wry smiles filled with their own predicament, or perfunctory replies with a hint of subtle distance and scrutiny—"Yeah, it's really too little, I'm struggling too." In this time of everyone looking out for themselves and scarce resources, points were the most naked capital for survival; who would easily share such life-saving resources with others? Karuizawa clearly understood this from their flickering eyes and polite evasions.

Deep down, a voice constantly tempted her: Confess to Hirata Yousuke. Even if not everything, just tell him about your financial difficulties. Hirata was so gentle, so kind; he would surely help her. This thought was like a flickering candle in the darkness, bringing a faint warmth and hope. But each time she almost mustered the courage to approach him, the terrifying memory of that day in gym class, when Shinohara vaguely mentioned her "past" and she almost lost control and exposed herself in front of everyone, would lash her nerves like an ice-cold whip, instantly sobering her and chilling her to the bone.

She couldn't imagine how she would weave a lie when Hirata looked at her with those clear eyes, always full of trust and care, and gently asked, "Kei, why do you need so many points? Are you in some kind of trouble?" Would she have to tell him that she needed a large sum of points to maintain an elaborately constructed, confident, false facade, to ensure no one would delve deeper and uncover her past, a past as dirty and humiliating as mud in a gutter? No! Absolutely not! Hirata was the haven she had finally found in this new school, the only lifeline to a "normal," "popular" life, and living proof that she had escaped the shadows of her past. She absolutely could not risk losing all of this! Even a one-in-ten-thousand possibility was enough to make her unable to breathe from fear.

This sense of being trapped with no way out and no retreat, like countless tenacious and cold vines, grew from the darkest corners of her heart, tightly coiling around her heart, constricting ever tighter, almost drawing blood. She began to suffer from insomnia, tossing and turning all night. Even when she forced herself to sleep, it was filled with bizarre, nightmarish dreams of being chased and exposed. Waking up in the morning, the person in the mirror had a pale complexion, and the dark circles under her eyes were difficult to completely conceal with even the most expensive concealer, revealing a weariness that emanated from within. In deserted hallway corners, by the windows of empty classrooms, her eyes would instantly lose all their luster, becoming hollow and frightened. Her slender fingers would unconsciously and repeatedly pick at the edges of her uniform skirt or the corners of book pages until her fingertips turned white. Her secret, fragile communication with Shinohara Mami became more frequent but also more oppressive, filled with silent despair and mutual pressure.

Kushida Kikyo, like a silent, loyal shadow, continuously and efficiently relayed these meticulous observations to Fūki Ran. Her reports were no longer simple lists of information but included more personal observations and deductions, as if she too were immersed in this meticulously planned hunt.

[Fūki, this afternoon I saw Kei standing in front of the vending machine at the end of the hallway for a good five or six minutes. She just stared at the colorful drinks inside, her finger hovering over the purchase button several times, but in the end, she still only chose the cheapest mineral water. After paying, she held that bottle and looked at the Class B girls next to her laughing and sharing a new flavor of juice. That look in her eyes... I can't describe it. It wasn't envy, more like... something cold, tinged with hatred and unwillingness. It even gave me the creeps.]

[Also, after lunch break today, I pretended to return a book to the library and happened to see Kei and Mami whispering in the very back corner of the philosophy bookshelf. I couldn't hear the specifics, but Kei seemed very agitated, her shoulders were trembling. Although she kept her voice down, it felt like she was suppressing a sob, and her expression was terrible, a distorted look of anger and pleading. Mami, on the other hand, looked helpless and troubled, constantly waving her hands as if refusing something.]

[Speaking of which, Fūki, have you noticed? Kei seems to have lost a lot of weight recently. Her previously well-fitting plaid skirt seems a bit loose around the waist now. She used to be very meticulous about her image and managing her figure; she would never allow this to happen... It seems she's not just mentally, but physically, being tormented by this point crisis.]

[What surprised me the most was today! After class, Hirata casually asked her to go to the library reading room to study together this weekend, saying he found some good reference books. Guess what? Kei actually... she actually made an excuse to decline! She said she had other plans for the weekend! My goodness, if it were before, she would have enthusiastically agreed and started picking out clothes and doing her makeup long in advance! Now she's even afraid to go out with Hirata? Is she genuinely afraid of any minor expenses that might arise from a date, or... is she more afraid of being alone with the perceptive Hirata, who might see through the breakdown she's desperately trying to hide?]

These seemingly trivial yet tension-filled fragments of information were quickly categorized, analyzed, and integrated in Fūki Ran's mind, like a precision instrument, ultimately constructing a chillingly clear trajectory—Karuizawa Kei, this maiden trying to wrap herself in vanity and pretense, was irreversibly sliding towards the edge of complete collapse under the pressure of both internal and external crises. Her financial situation was on the verge of depletion, her mental defenses were riddled with holes and on the verge of collapse under continuous high pressure. Her relationship with Shinohara, the only one who knew, had also become tense and stressful from the initial alliance due to this heavy and dangerous secret. The most crucial signal was that she was beginning to instinctively avoid Hirata Yousuke—this meant that the mental effort and cost required to maintain a superficial calm and "play" the role of a perfect girlfriend had exceeded her current capacity. The fear deep within her heart had finally overwhelmed her desire for and dependence on that "protection."

However, Fūki maintained an almost cold patience. Like the most experienced hunter, he knew that the prey's struggle before death was the most intense, and also the easiest time to fall into a trap due to misjudgment. He knew it wasn't the optimal time to cast his net yet. Although Kei was cornered and despair was surging like a tide, there might still be a faint trace of her own stubbornness in the depths of her eyes, a deluded hope of overcoming the difficulties through her own strength or some stroke of luck. He needed to wait, patiently wait, for this last shred of psychological defense, born of pride or luck, to be completely crushed by cruel reality, for her to clearly recognize her own powerlessness and insignificance, and to completely abandon all unrealistic fantasies. Only then would she put on the most spectacular performance.

He wasn't waiting entirely passively. While Kei struggled in despair, Fūki also began to use Kushida, a flexible pawn, to conduct more refined operations within the complex social network of the girls. He had Kushida, in seemingly casual conversations where multiple girls were present, consciously but subtly spread vague information about "special lending channels." This information was packaged as "I heard," "it seems someone through some method," emphasizing its "highly confidential" nature and the fact that it "requires corresponding payment or collateral." He didn't directly point to himself, even deliberately obscuring the source of the information. He was merely laying down a vague background noise, creating a potential perception that "there might be some unconventional way out in desperate situations." When Kei was finally forced to consider "special means," this pre-planted vague concept would naturally surface in her mind. And ultimately, this vague direction would be "inadvertently" and sympathetically guided by Kushida "at the crucial moment" towards the only person who could offer "help"—Fūki Ran.

At the same time, he also instructed Kushida to continue closely monitoring Kei while also paying attention to and collecting any other potential weaknesses or leverage Kei might have, besides the three thousand point debt and the vague "past." For example, had she engaged in any minor transactions that violated school rules or were less than honorable due to extreme lack of money? Or, did her disgraceful "past" contain more specific, more damaging, more fatal details? This information would become the most valuable bargaining chips on the negotiation table in the future.

The invisible net was silently, slowly, and firmly tightening. Every thread was soaked in patience and calculation, laid out along the prey's most likely escape routes. Fūki Ran, like a detached chess player, calmly observed every change on the board. He wasn't in a hurry to checkmate, but through a series of exquisite maneuvers and continuous psychological pressure, he was systematically stripping away all the opponent's breathing room and hope of resistance, squeezing out all her choices, and ultimately forcing her onto the path he had long paved for her, the path that seemed to be the only way out—the path of submission.

He often stood by the single window of Dorm 129, his deep gaze seeming to penetrate the thick concrete walls and the heavy night sky, clearly seeing into that specific room in the girls' dormitory building next door, where the maiden named Karuizawa Kei was staring blankly at the glaring red low-balance notification on her terminal screen, tossing and turning from the fear of tomorrow, and becoming increasingly haggard from being gnawed by the demons within her heart. He could almost feel her increasingly rapid and disordered breathing, could hear her increasingly weak but increasingly rapid heartbeat from fear.

The air was filled with the unique scent of sweat, tears, and despair emanating from the prey on the verge of desperation.

A barely perceptible, cold, and satisfied curve formed on Fūki's lips.

Soon.

It would be time soon.

(Writing something not in the original work, making it up)