The Second Chess Piece--Kushida Kikyo

Uesugi Hara finally withdrew his hand, his fingertips tapping lightly on the bedsheet beside her ear. "Wouldn't it have been easier if you'd just been clear from the start?" He straightened up, moving away from her. As he stood, the hem of his uniform brushed against her, stirring a faint breeze.

He didn't look back, walking straight to the desk to pull out the chair and sit. His fingertips tapped a rhythmic beat against the surface. "However, what counts as 'sincerity' is for me to decide." He opened his laptop, the screen's glow reflecting on his face. "From today on, monitor the actions of Ayanokouji and Horikita and report to me regularly."

Kushida froze, snapping her head up to look at him. "That's it?" She had braced herself for countless humiliating demands, but she hadn't expected something so simple; the shock in her eyes was impossible to hide.

"What else?" Uesugi Hara turned his head, the corner of his mouth curling up. "Did you really think I was going to do something to you?" His gaze swept over her still-flushed cheeks. "Don't think too highly of yourself, and don't think of me as so sordid—the 'sincerity' I want is for you to remember the taste of 'needing someone,' and while you're at it, to see if a 'high-mountain flower' like you can lower her head to handle such trivial tasks."

He paused, his fingertip tapping the screen. "Of course, if you can't even manage to collect information well, or if you dare to tamper with what you report—" He didn't finish, but the coldness in his eyes said everything.

Kushida's hand, which had been gripping the bedsheet, slowly relaxed, the white marks on her knuckles fading. The shame was still there, but it no longer stung as sharply. She looked at Uesugi Hara's back and bit her lower lip. "...I understand." Her voice was still a bit hoarse, but much steadier than before.

Uesugi Hara swiped his fingertip across the terminal interface, his gaze lingering on a certain name. When he looked up, his tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather. "Right, one more thing."

He turned his body, his previously scattered gaze sharpening as it fell back onto Kushida. "Starting tomorrow, keep a closer eye on Sakura Airi. Accompany her to the library, or sit next to her during lunch—you don't need to go out of your way to please her, just make her feel like you aren't there to bully her."

Kushida's brows knitted together instantly, the shock in her eyes hardening into resistance. "Sakura Airi? That girl who's always burying her head and speaks like a mosquito?" She scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain. "Why should I be nice to her? What can she do for me? If I'm seen walking with her, people will only think I've lowered my status."

In her social circle, someone like Sakura Airi, who possessed neither influence nor conversational value, wasn't even worth a glance.

"There is no 'why'." Uesugi Hara tapped his fingertip on the desk, the tap-tap sound ringing out clearly in the quiet room. "If you must know—" He paused, his gaze drifting toward the window, his tone softening. "That child is someone I care about. She's soft-natured and shy, always being overlooked. Isn't your social skill supposed to be impressive? Help me look after her for a few days; don't let her get bullied, and don't let her keep hiding away by herself."

At these words, Kushida was completely stunned. She had expected another scheme; she hadn't expected a reason that felt almost like a "favor"—that someone as calculating as Uesugi Hara would actually care about Sakura Airi? This was even more baffling to her than being told to tail Ayanokouji.

"You..." She opened her mouth, wanting to ask "What is your relationship?", but upon meeting his emotionless eyes, she swallowed the words. She was the one in need of a favor now; she had no right to pry.

Uesugi Hara seemed to see right through her thoughts. He tapped his terminal, pulling up a photo of Sakura Airi—the girl in the picture was looking down, her bangs covering half her face, wearing ugly glasses, her fingers nervously clutching her bag strap. "Don't overthink it," he said, turning the terminal toward her. "Just consider it an additional condition of our cooperation."

"You take good care of her, and I'll speed up the progress on dealing with Horikita for you; if I find out you're just going through the motions, or if you intentionally bully her—" He retracted the terminal, his tone turning colder. "The previous agreement is void."

The final words felt like a stone pressing down on Kushida's heart. She looked at the photo; Sakura Airi's timid appearance made her feel inexplicably irritable, but the thought of Horikita forced her to suppress her reluctance. "...I know." She turned her face away, her voice stiff. "I will take 'good care' of her."

Uesugi Hara nodded, satisfied, and stood up to walk to the window, pushing it open a crack. "It's getting late, you can go now. If you don't leave soon, I'm afraid rumors will start spreading, and we certainly can't have Sakura seeing you looking so grumpy and thinking you hate her."

"Also, if you ever need to vent in the future, you can come to me—don't let yourself get caught by someone else again." Uesugi Hara added a final reminder.

Kushida clenched her palms but didn't respond, turning and walking quickly toward the door. As she passed the desk, her peripheral vision swept over the terminal—the screen was still on Sakura Airi's photo, and Uesugi Hara's fingertip was gently tapping the top of the girl's head in the image, his movement carrying a rare hint of warmth.

The moment the door clicked shut, Uesugi Hara withdrew his fingertip from the photo. As the terminal screen went dark, the rare warmth in his eyes faded away as well. He walked to the desk and tucked the voice recorder and camera into the deepest part of the drawer.

"Take care of her? It's nothing more than letting the person best at wearing a mask learn how to treat someone with sincerity." He muttered to himself, his fingertips tapping a light rhythm on the desk.

The morning mist outside the window had completely cleared. The Sunday campus was exceptionally quiet. He could see the stone path in front of the cafeteria, where a small figure was walking quickly while clutching a canvas bag. The strap of a camera was visible on the side of the bag; she was clearly heading to the cafeteria to buy breakfast and find a quiet corner to take photos—he didn't need to look at the terminal to know it was Sakura Airi.

The mystery novel on the corner of the desk was blown open to a new page by the breeze, with a line printed on it: "The most unexpected changes often begin with the most deliberate arrangements. The hardest masks are often pried open by the smallest fragments of kindness."

Uesugi Hara's fingertip traced the page, the interest in his eyes deepening—this "care," mixed with calculation and accident, might just be more interesting than dealing with Horikita herself.

Meanwhile, in the hallway, Kushida was clutching her hem and walking quickly downstairs.

Sunday should have been a day for chatting with friends at a dessert shop, but she had been roused by Uesugi Hara's "mission." Just the thought of having to put on a "friendly" face for Sakura Airi made her feel uncomfortable—that kind of girl who hid away with her camera and had to summon all her courage just to make eye contact was nothing but trouble.

But Uesugi Hara's promise to "speed up the progress on dealing with Horikita" was like bait; even knowing there might be a hook, she couldn't help but bite.

There were very few people in the cafeteria. Sakura Airi was standing in front of the breakfast window, her fingertip hovering over the menu while her other hand kept the canvas bag clutched to her chest, her elbows tucked in tight, terrified that someone passing by might bump into the camera inside.

Her gaze darted between the ham and egg sandwich and the vegetable wrap, her lips pressed tightly together, clearly struggling to choose.

"Does it really take this long to pick a breakfast?"

The voice that suddenly came from behind made Sakura Airi jump like a startled bird. She spun around, the canvas bag strap sliding from her elbow to her wrist, and she scrambled to catch it with her other hand, her fingertips turning white.

When she saw it was Kushida, her pupils shrank, and she instinctively tried to hide the canvas bag behind her back, her voice barely a breath. "Ku, Kushida-san? Why are you here too?"

Kushida looked at her, seeing how she wanted to shrink into her bag, and tightened her grip on her terminal—just as troublesome as she had imagined.

But she still walked forward and pointed at the ham and egg sandwich. "That sandwich goes perfectly with hot milk; it's more filling than the vegetable wrap, so you won't be hungry later while you're taking photos."

Sakura Airi's face turned bright red, the color spreading from her cheeks to her earlobes. She lowered her head quickly, her fingers winding around the bag strap twice. "Tha, thank you... I just thought both looked pretty good..." She paused, then added in a small voice, "How did you know I was going to take photos?"

"I guessed." Kushida avoided her gaze, picked up two sandwiches, walked to the register, and after paying with points, shoved the ham and egg one into Sakura Airi's hand—when her fingertips brushed the back of the girl's hand, she could feel her stiffen instantly. "My treat. Just... let me see the photos you take next time."

This excuse was more natural than the last. Sakura Airi's fingers, holding the sandwich, relaxed, and a flash of surprise crossed her eyes before being quickly suppressed by her shyness. "Re, really? Is that okay? I don't take very good ones... but I'll pick the nice ones to show you!" She peeked at Kushida, then lowered her head as if burned, only the tips of her ears remaining bright red.

Kushida didn't respond, merely pointing to an empty seat by the window. "The light is good over there. Let's eat there."

Sakura Airi nodded immediately, following her with her sandwich and canvas bag, her steps lighter than before, the charms on her bag swaying along.

When they sat down, she carefully placed the canvas bag on her lap, unzipping it just a tiny crack to touch the camera lens cap with her fingertip before zipping it back up, guarding it like a secret that couldn't be shared.

"Is the camera very valuable?" Kushida took a bite of her sandwich, asking as if it were a casual remark.

Sakura Airi paused, her fingertip resting on the bag. Her voice was soft but carried a hint of seriousness. "Yes... it was a gift from a very important friend." Her fingertip tapped the surface of the bag. "It can capture many beautiful things—like the cherry blossoms in the early morning, the clouds outside the cafeteria window, and... and photos of myself taken in the mirror." When she said the last few words, her voice was as light as a sigh, yet it held a spark of joy known only to her.

Kushida glanced out the window; there were indeed a few fluffy clouds drifting in the sky, dyed a pale gold by the sunlight.

She suddenly felt that the sandwich in her hand wasn't as tasty—her Sunday breakfast was supposed to be spent laughing and gossiping with friends; she had never sat so quietly with anyone, to the point where she felt she had to hold her breath.

She watched Sakura Airi nibbling on her sandwich—taking a bite and then pausing for two seconds, as if savoring it or gathering courage. Suddenly, she said, "After you finish, take me to see the place where you usually take photos."

Sakura Airi looked up abruptly, the shock in her eyes like a drop of water falling into clear liquid, rippling outward. After a long moment, she nodded vigorously, the curve of her smile impossible to hide. "Okay! But the place is a bit secluded."

Watching the light that ignited in her eyes when she mentioned photography—that pure light, untainted by calculation—Kushida suddenly remembered herself by the lake last night, remembered the ferocity of gritting her teeth against the railing, and the exhaustion of acting docile in front of Uesugi Hara.

She suddenly understood why Uesugi Hara cared about this girl—she was as clean as a blank sheet of paper, living in a completely different world from people like them, who were full of schemes.

She didn't speak again, simply pushing her untouched hot milk toward Sakura Airi, the warmth of the cup transferring through her fingertips. "Drink up, it won't taste good if it gets cold."

Sakura Airi said "Mm," and drank it in small sips, holding the cup with both hands. Morning light caught on her eyelashes, looking like fallen stars.