Interstice

Five days before the deadline for the inter-class group project, Ryuen Kakeru did something that caught everyone off guard.

He took the initiative at a Class C meeting to apply for a role in coordinating the inter-class group project. He didn't ask to join as a regular member, but rather as a "Class Communication Representative," demanding access to the interim reports submitted by every group. His justification was impeccable: "To facilitate information sharing between classes and avoid redundant labor." The homeroom teacher approved it.

When the news reached Class D, Horikita Suzune intercepted Kanzaki Toru in the hallway.

"He's going through the reports." Her voice was low, yet every word sounded as if it were being squeezed through gritted teeth. "On the surface, he's checking for plagiarism, but in reality, he's collecting leverage on everyone. Is there anything in your report that you wouldn't want him to see?"

"I prepared two versions of the section on the old system. The one submitted to the public database is the abridged version; the sensitive content is in a separate encrypted file that only our group members can access."

"That's good." Horikita's tense shoulders relaxed slightly, though her brow remained furrowed. "There's one more thing. While Ryuen was flipping through the reports, he paid special attention to Ishizaki's group. He read Ishizaki's interim report from start to finish three times, and after he finished, he didn't say a word. He just told Ishizaki to meet him at the old school building after school. You know what that means."

Kanzaki Toru certainly did.

Ishizaki's interim report contained traces of the Sudo incident. Although no names were explicitly mentioned, anyone familiar with the situation could read between the lines and see exactly what the phrase "misunderstandings in inter-class communication" was pointing toward. Ishizaki was leaning toward them, and Ryuen had caught the scent of blood.

"What do you intend to do?" Horikita asked.

"Let him smell it."

Horikita's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't press for more. There was no longer any need for them to confirm such seemingly understated responses. She simply nodded, and as she turned to leave, the arc of her ponytail was as sharp and decisive as ever.

During the lunch break, Kanzaki Toru used his terminal to send a message to Ishizaki from the rooftop of the old school building. The content was simple: "Ryuen will look for you after school today. He read your interim report. If you don't know how to answer, tell him to come to me. Tell him I have what he wants." Ishizaki didn't reply. But Kanzaki knew he would comply, because he had no other choice.

In the afternoon, he was in the library reviewing materials for the final group task. The main body of the report was complete; the archives of the old system organized by Shiina Hiyori were cited down to the page number, the photo layout by Sakura Airi made the entire report look like a formally published academic journal, and the logical framework by Yukimura Teruhiko was so rigorous that even Horikita had nodded in approval. Only the final part remained—suggestions for future improvements to the inter-class group system. This section required referencing feedback records from previous students.

He found the Student Council Work Minutes Compilation in the deepest section of the social sciences area. As he opened the index, a name jumped into his line of sight without warning—Ryuen Kakeru, Class 1-C. He appeared on the Student Council Disciplinary Committee's assistance list from the previous semester, with the title "Temporary Investigation Assistant." The remarks column contained only a single line of small text: "Assisted the Disciplinary Committee in handling three inter-class disputes; performance was excellent."

Three inter-class disputes. Last semester. Ryuen had already infiltrated the Student Council's investigation system through the Disciplinary Committee channel last semester. It hadn't started this semester, nor was it a bridge built by a second-year student; he had actively positioned himself to access all student files less than three months after enrolling. Those so-called "inter-class disputes" were likely manufactured by his own hand. He created problems while simultaneously solving them, packaging himself as an impartial third party, and then extracting more authority and trust from the Disciplinary Committee. He was using the Student Council's official seal to stamp his own private agenda.

He took a photo of the page and sent it to Horikita.

Horikita's reply was only two words: "No wonder."

No wonder he could obtain Class D's personal evaluation data, no wonder he could precisely find Sudo's weak point, and no wonder he could tamper with the official seal on the midterm report. He hadn't bribed someone in the Disciplinary Committee; he was the Disciplinary Committee.

Kanzaki Toru closed the materials and leaned against the bookshelf, closing his eyes. Ryuen's cards were being flipped over one by one. Disciplinary Committee assistant, searching for old rules, point manipulation, interim report review—each step was precise and efficient. But the more precise something was, the easier it was to predict. Ryuen's core method wasn't violence; it was information asymmetry. He knew things others didn't, which allowed him to manipulate them into doing what he wanted. Once that information gap was leveled, his control would diminish. And what he held in his hands now was exactly what could level that gap—the old system archives, the Disciplinary Committee appointment records, the promises owed to Ishizaki, and the complete causal chain of the Sudo incident.

Ryuen's grip was tightening. Tightening to the point where his own chess pieces were beginning to spill through his fingers.

After school, Kanzaki Toru intercepted Ishizaki on the perimeter of the old school building.

Ishizaki had clearly just finished talking to Ryuen; his complexion was terrible, cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and a button on his school uniform collar had been ripped loose. Seeing Kanzaki, he instinctively took a step back.

"What did he ask you?"

"...He told me to delete the part about the 'misunderstanding' in the interim report. He said if I didn't, he would report the fact that I helped him commit perjury last semester to the Disciplinary Committee." Ishizaki's gaze drifted under the streetlights, his voice raspy. "I helped him commit perjury; I helped him identify a Class D student as a thief. At the time, he said that person was a thief, but I found out later that wasn't the case at all. He had an old grudge against that person and just used the Disciplinary Committee's hand to force them to withdraw. The withdrawal reason column was signed on the very page Ryuen assisted in investigating."

Kanzaki Toru's expression darkened. Ryuen had committed perjury himself. It wasn't about coercing others or using someone else as a blade; he had sat behind that Disciplinary Committee desk himself, using his own hand to sign "facts clear, evidence conclusive" on someone else's withdrawal record. This was no longer just a gray-area operation at the edge of the rules; it was a crime.

"Ryuen doesn't have concrete proof; he's just threatening you. The fact that you committed perjury is your biggest liability, and he won't use it lightly. If he exposes this, he won't be able to escape either. So don't worry, he won't actually do it. He just wants you to be afraid." He looked into Ishizaki's eyes. "You don't need to trust Class D immediately. But the old system report we submit will list every step Ryuen took to manipulate others through 'information asymmetry.' You will be one piece of evidence, anonymously. When that report enters the Student Council's formal evaluation, the timer on his threat against you will officially start."

Ishizaki gritted his teeth, looking down at his untied shoelaces. After a long silence, he spoke in a very, very low voice: "He said... if I have any more contact with people from Class D, he'll make me go down with him."

Kanzaki Toru watched him. This man, who had been tied to Ryuen's ship for so long, was trembling as he said these words, his eyes rimmed with red, yet his tone was eerily steady. When one reaches the peak of collapse, there is no longer any obvious outburst—he was on the verge of tearing apart. Ishizaki was different from Sudo; Sudo needed a guardrail to stop him from charging ahead, while Ishizaki needed a tool to pry open his shackles.

"You won't go down with him. You're on his list, but you're still in our folder."

Ishizaki didn't answer; he simply crouched down slowly and tied his loose shoelaces. His fingers were rough, calloused from playing ball, and his movements were slow, as if he were using his fingers to confirm that he could still control a part of his own body.

Kanzaki Toru didn't rush him. He just stood there, waiting for Ishizaki to stand up on his own.

"...You said before that Class D could give me a starting spot." Ishizaki's voice was hoarse as he stood up. "Does that still stand?"

"It doesn't. Because the starting lineup is decided by the coach, not by me. But if you help us complete the chain of evidence for Ryuen's perjury, the coach will see your attitude toward basketball—not helping someone beat others, but playing the game."

Ishizaki stared at him, his lips moving as if he wanted to laugh but found it absurd. In the end, he simply zipped up his loose school uniform.

"...Fine."

After saying that word, he turned and walked toward the Class C dormitory. His silhouette under the streetlights looked thinner than usual—all the ostentatious, oily, power-clinging shell he usually projected seemed to have been left behind in Ryuen's old school building, leaving only a normal basketball player walking slowly away into the empty intersection at night.

Kanzaki Toru watched him disappear at the end of the streetlights and was about to turn away when he suddenly looked up—on the edge of the old school building's roof, Ryuen Kakeru was standing there. Just like last time, he stood there silently; he didn't know when he had gone up, nor did he know how long he had been watching. Their gazes met again across the dark railing. Ryuen didn't smile, nor did he make any gestures, but those eyes still emitted a cold light in the darkness.

Then, Ryuen slowly raised a hand and tapped his fingers against the railing three times. It wasn't a threat, nor a warning; it was more like a hunter confirming that his prey was still alive. After the three taps, he turned and disappeared behind the rooftop door.

After returning to the dormitory, Horikita Suzune sent a compressed file. The title was "Ryuen Kakeru · Disciplinary Committee Investigation Records · Top Secret." Attached was a single sentence: "Your deduction was correct. Of the three inter-class disputes he assisted in investigating last semester, the parties involved in two of them could not be contacted after their withdrawal. The Disciplinary Committee's formal investigation records show that the testimonies for both cases were highly consistent—both pointed to the same party. Teacher Sakagami also replied, saying that those individuals had all attempted to bypass Ryuen to establish their own influence within the class, but all withdrew within a few weeks due to psychological pressure. It's exactly the same as those cases in the old archives."

At the end of the file was a personal note from Horikita: "I was intercepted by Ryuen's people when I went to pull this file today, and I had to break through four layers of permission locks to escape—next time, for high-risk intelligence like this, you should let me add an extra layer of defensive routing."

Kanzaki Toru saved the file into the encrypted partition and closed his terminal. The old system archives, Ryuen's Disciplinary Committee records, and Ishizaki's testimony—three threads were converging. And the report he had prepared for Ryuen would be delivered to both the Student Council and the homeroom teacher on the day the inter-class group project deadline arrived. That wasn't an academic report. It was a complete indictment, accompanied by a chain of evidence.

It was raining again outside the window. Fine raindrops tapped against the glass, blurring the streetlights outside the dormitory building into a cluster of swaying halos. There seemed to be a figure in that halo—he stood up, pushed open the glass door, and leaned out to take a look downstairs. The empty outdoor chairs were glistening from the rain, but no one was there.

Ryuen's fingers had tapped three times on the railing. What was this—a countdown? Or an invitation to play a much larger game?