Night Voyage Alone, Sailing Mountains and Seas Without Wind

The sky deepened, twilight washing over the sea and staining the entire cruise ship.

Kikyo Kushida sat quietly before the mirror, tidying her chaotic thoughts as she waited for that secret midnight rendezvous on the deck.

Night fell completely, shrouding the entire expanse of the sea.

The ship's lights flickered on one by one, casting warm halos across the corridors that diluted the chill of the night air, yet failing to reach the gloom hidden deep within the human heart. After a full day of intensive Dragon Group meetings, compounded by private probes laced with hidden barbs, most students had shed their daytime tension and retreated to their cabins to rest.

The cruise ship gradually faded from clamor into tranquility. Occasionally, the only sounds brushing against her ears were the faint whistling of the sea breeze through the ship's seams and the low murmur of waves lapping against the hull in the distance—hollow and profound.

The clock quietly approached eight.

Kikyo Kushida rose from her seat, her posture upright and steady, devoid of the panic and dejection she had shown during the day. Hours of sitting in stillness had allowed her to suppress the surging anxiety and inferiority in her heart, gathering all her scattered thoughts into order.

She knew very well that tonight's meeting might be her only turning point.

Ayanokoji's surveillance from the shadows, the lethal leverage held by Horikita, and a perfect persona that could collapse at any moment—these three mountains pressed down on her path, leaving her with no way out. If she missed this chance to trade with Yoshikage Kira, her future school life would be spent forever in fear and passivity, always at risk of being swallowed whole by the darkness of her past.

She could not afford to lose, and she would not lose.

Pushing open her cabin door, the corridor lights were soft, and no students were wandering about. To avoid all unknown risks and prevent any possibility of being watched or followed, Kushida deliberately bypassed the main corridors crowded with people, choosing instead the auxiliary side passage that hugged the waterline.

This corridor was dimly lit and remote, rarely trodden by students; it was one of the few hidden corners on the entire ship.

Her steps were light, maintaining the most relaxed state possible. Even with the weight of her entire future resting on this gamble, her face remained that gentle, harmless mask, habitually prepared with every external disguise.

No one knew that this girl, who appeared to be taking a casual night stroll, was rushing toward a secret pact that would rewrite the fate of her next three years.

The sea breeze poured in through the gaps in the corridor, carrying the crisp, damp scent unique to the ocean, brushing against her hair and collar, smoothing out the last remnants of tension in her heart. Walking in the empty night, she didn't need to force a smile, didn't need to accommodate anyone, and didn't need to maintain anyone's favor; she enjoyed a rare moment of relaxation and clarity.

Walking along, she became increasingly certain that her choices had never been wrong.

People always loved to crudely define right and wrong, conflating her past loss of control with the malice of those who were inherently dark and took pleasure in harming others. But only she, being in the thick of it, understood that the two were worlds apart. The evil of others was a jealousy and calculation born of intent, a deliberate framing and injury; her so-called "evil" was the forced collapse of an ordinary person under extreme loneliness and endless pressure, a frantic loss of control when there was nowhere left to turn.

After the truth about her assignment to Class D was spread, Kikyo Kushida was certain the school knew everything and had already passed judgment on her.

She should have realized it from the very beginning.

She simply wanted a stable sense of belonging, wanted to blend into the crowd, wanted to escape her loneliness—that was all.

Wrong was wrong; she had never intended to defend or whitewash herself, nor had she ever coveted unconditional empathy or forgiveness from others. She only asked for a chance—a chance to face her past, reconcile with herself, and live again.

Her thoughts were clear, her path determined.

The third-floor Open-air Observation Deck soon appeared at the end of her vision.

The moment she stepped onto the deck, the night wind surged, completely scattering the stuffiness of the corridor. The entire observation deck was empty, the tables and chairs where tourists rested during the day standing silently. The pitch-black night sky and the ink-colored sea merged into an endless expanse of darkness, the ship's lights falling onto the water and shattering into swaying spots of light—quiet enough, and secure enough to be foolproof.

Looking into the distance, a slender figure stood quietly by the railing.

Yoshikage Kira stood with his back to the entrance, hands casually tucked in his pockets, his posture straight yet relaxed, his gaze looking calmly toward the endless sea. There was no hostility of a power struggle about him, nor the impatience of someone waiting; he carried a natural, world-defying peace and stillness.

A subtle feeling suddenly stirred in Kushida's heart.

She had spent her life chasing crowds, craving belonging, and struggling to take root in the clamor just to avoid being abandoned; while Kira had spent his life distancing himself from the chaos, preferring solitude, and guarding his own heart among the crowd just to find stability.

One lived by chasing warmth, the other walked toward the silence.

Two diametrically opposed lives, yet they had quietly intersected in this secret midnight gamble.

The soft sound of footsteps broke the silence of the deck.

Hearing the sound, Yoshikage Kira turned slowly, his cold, clear gaze landing on Kushida, pausing slightly.

Shedding the slickness and deliberation of the day's maneuvering, the Kushida before him was calm and solemn, her features gentle yet carrying an unshakable firmness. There was no fake smile, no fawning posture; she looked like someone prepared to lay herself bare and face her entire past.

"Good evening, Kira-kun," Kushida said softly.

"Mm. You're punctual." Kira nodded slightly, his voice steady and indifferent, just like his calm expression. "No one followed you. Very cautious."

This was not a question, but a firm confirmation.

Kushida nodded slightly, looking up at the boy before her: "I avoided all the main paths and confirmed that no one was watching the entire way. No third person will know about tonight's conversation."

Hearing this, Kira said no more, silently turning his head to look at the sea.

The night wind blew gently, the night was deep, isolating all the world's disturbances and prying eyes. All the probing, forbearance, anxiety, and waiting reached their end at this moment, waiting only for a frank confession to finalize their deal and their future.

On the deck, all was silent, save for the ceaseless night wind, which gently stirred their collars and agitated the heavy atmosphere quietly growing in the night.

Kikyo Kushida took a deep breath, suppressing the last remnants of shame and cowardice in her heart, completely shedding the psychological defenses she had maintained for years. Those pasts she had buried deep, dared not show, and desperately covered up—those struggles, loneliness, and helplessness that no one understood—finally broke free from their shackles at this moment.

"Kira-kun, all the deductions you made in the cafe today were correct."

She looked directly into Kira's eyes, without a hint of evasion or a shred of defense.

"I did indeed have a catastrophic class-collapse incident in middle school, and Horikita-san is likely one of the few people who knows the full truth. She and I attended the same school in the past. From the moment I enrolled, I tried to befriend her, but I was repeatedly rejected. I suppose it was because she knew about that incident and held a grudge..."

The curtain of the past was, from this moment on, completely drawn back.