Kushida Kikyo

On Sunday, Kanzaki Toru spent the entire morning in the library.

He combed through every piece of past data he could find, recording every scrap of information regarding special exams in his notebook. The records from last year, the year before, and even earlier all showed the same thing: Class D was hit hard during the very first special exam almost every time. While Class A and Class B maintained high, stable class point totals, Class D acted like a punching bag designed to absorb damage, its headcount dwindling after every exam. Yet, none of these documents contained the specific content of the special exams. It seemed the school had deliberately scrubbed every detail from the written records.

This in itself was a piece of information. The school did not want students to prepare in advance. Or perhaps, the school wanted the students to figure things out from scratch on their own.

At one in the afternoon, he left the library and bought a bento at the convenience store. While waiting in line at the register, he noticed someone.

It was a boy who looked very amiable. He had black hair, was not very tall, and had a lean build. He was wearing the Class D male uniform, standing in a relaxed posture with a relaxed expression. He was talking to the cashier in a casual tone, as if chatting with a friend.

Kanzaki Toru recognized him—Hirata Yosuke, a classmate from Class D who sat near the door. During the self-introductions on the first day of school, Hirata's tone had been steady, his attitude friendly but not flashy, leaving the impression of an "easy-going, ordinary classmate."

But it was precisely this "just-right ordinariness" that made Kanzaki Toru take a second look. He then withdrew his gaze. In this school, being ordinary was the best disguise. He was using the same strategy himself, so he had no reason to doubt that others were doing the same.

After buying his bento, he was about to find a spot in the lounge to eat lunch when a gentle voice came from behind him.

"Kanzaki-kun?"

He turned around.

Kushida Kikyo was standing not far behind him, her hands behind her back, leaning forward slightly with that signature smile on her face. Her short hair caught the sunlight with a soft luster, and her eyes curved into crescent moons, making her look incredibly approachable.

"It really is Kanzaki-kun," she said. "I thought I might have mistaken you for someone else. You rarely speak, so I wasn't quite sure of your name."

"It's me," Kanzaki Toru nodded. "Kushida-san, is something the matter?"

"Not at all, I just happened to see you and wanted to say hello." Kushida walked to his side and looked at the bento in his hand. "Are you eating lunch alone too? Me too. Want to eat together?"

Her tone was so natural when she said this that it was hard to refuse. It wasn't pushy, nor was it coquettish; it was a kind of relaxing friendliness—as if refusing her would make one seem cold-hearted.

"Sure," Kanzaki Toru said.

The two found a corner in the lounge to sit down. Kushida opened her bento box, which contained several delicate side dishes that looked homemade. She chatted as she ate, with topics ranging from the weather to classes and school facilities, all of them light and pleasant. When she spoke, she looked into the other person's eyes, but never for too long, shifting her gaze at the right moments to keep the conversation at a comfortable rhythm.

If one only looked at the surface, Kushida Kikyo was indeed a perfect classmate.

"By the way," Kushida said suddenly, "I saw you and Horikita-san at the cafe yesterday afternoon."

Her hands didn't stop as she continued to pick up a cherry tomato with her chopsticks, her tone remaining light and cheerful.

Kanzaki Toru took a bite of rice. "Yeah, she wanted to talk to me about some study-related matters."

"Is that so? Horikita-san is really serious, isn't she?" Kushida said with a smile. "But she's so stern, I don't really dare to talk to her."

This sounded like a compliment to Horikita, but there was a subtle sense of distance in the words—the kind of distance that separated "her" from "us." Kanzaki Toru noticed it but said nothing.

"What were you two talking about?" Kushida tilted her head. "It wouldn't be about class points, would it?"

She was sharp.

And she was bringing it out into the open directly.

"Why do you ask?" Kanzaki Toru countered.

"Because everyone is worried, you know." Kushida's expression became a bit more serious, though the smile remained at the corners of her mouth. "Although Chabashira-sensei said the class points are 1,000, she didn't say whether that number is fixed or if it changes. Besides, don't you think it's strange—the school gives students so much freedom and so many points, it just feels like something is wrong."

Everything she said made perfect sense and was entirely consistent with the analysis a careful and intelligent student would reach.

"I think so too," Kanzaki Toru nodded. "But there hasn't been an official notice yet, so we can only wait and see for now."

"I suppose so." Kushida sighed and leaned back against the chair. "I just hope nothing too terrible happens. After all, some people in our class—" She paused, as if weighing her words, "some people don't seem to realize the severity of the situation at all. Like Yoshida-kun and Sudo-kun; they play every day and won't listen even when told."

There was nothing logically wrong with this statement. But the implication was to distinguish "people like Yoshida and Sudo" from "those of us who are aware."

"Indeed," Kanzaki Toru said.

"If only we could get through these three years safely." Kushida smiled and began to pack up her bento box. "Alright, I should head to my club activity. Kanzaki-kun, let's talk more in the future."

"Sure."

Kushida stood up, waved at him, and walked out of the lounge with a light step. Her back soon blended into the sunlight and the crowd outside.

Kanzaki Toru sat in his original spot, slowly eating the rest of his bento.

He re-examined the conversation just now using his observational skills. Every expression, every sentence, every pause of Kushida's—he broke them all down. Her smile was sincere, her tone friendly, and her concern reasonable. Yet, interspersed between this sincerity, friendliness, and reason were two intentional "divisions." "Horikita is stern, I don't dare talk to her"—separating herself from Horikita. "Yoshida and Sudo don't care, they won't listen"—separating herself from the problem students. Some people are adept at building trust by separating themselves from "problematic people." But if one thought about it calmly, the result of both divisions was the same: she became the friendly, rational person standing in the middle who cared about the class, while others were quietly pushed to the periphery.

This social technique was highly sophisticated. So sophisticated that if one didn't deliberately analyze it, one would never notice the intricate structure within.

Horikita said that someone who is equally gentle to everyone is either a saint or hiding something. And Kanzaki Toru could now confirm one thing—Kushida Kikyo was definitely not a saint. There was no need to draw a conclusion just yet. If Kushida was just an ordinary student who was particularly good at socializing, then these were merely social skills. If she was hiding something, she would eventually show a crack.

He threw his bento box into the trash can and got up to leave the lounge.

As he walked out the main entrance of the shopping mall, the sun was fierce. On the field, Sudo and Yoshida were playing soccer with a few other boys. Yoshida still had a bandage on his face, but he wasn't holding back at all while playing, and judging by his expression, he had fully recovered.

On the other side, Sakura Airi was sitting on a bench by the field, the photo album on her lap. Today, there was an extra item in front of her—a professional-looking DSLR camera, its lens cap off, pointed toward the field. She wasn't taking pictures of the people on the field, but was slightly adjusting the angle of the lens to aim at some street trees near the school building.

Kanzaki Toru didn't go over to disturb her. He just watched from afar as she pressed the shutter, checked the image on the LCD screen, and then revealed a very faint, very slight smile. The smile lasted less than two seconds, but it completely transformed her usually tense face.

He withdrew his gaze and walked toward the dormitory.

Deep within his consciousness, the illustrated guide quietly opened a new page. After Sakura Airi and Horikita Suzune, a third position was taking shape. The name had already surfaced—Kushida Kikyo. But like Horikita's, the favorability bar was still flickering, and the title bar remained empty. He needed more contact and more observation to make her page fully manifest.

No rush. Kushida Kikyo would take the initiative to find him. She was already doing so today. And when she came to find him again, he would be able to collect more information.

After returning to the dormitory, Kanzaki Toru washed his face and sat on the edge of his bed. Outside the window, the shouts and laughter of soccer players could be faintly heard from the field. Sunlight drew bright stripes across the floor through the curtains. He reorganized the information he had collected today in his notebook. Known clues: Class D started with 1,000 points; past Class Ds would plummet by 400 points during the first special exam and begin losing students; there were multiple special exams within the school year; students' daily personal conduct records would be used as a reference for exam evaluations; second-year students engaged in evaluation and suppression of freshmen. Clues to be confirmed: the specific content of the first special exam, the trigger time, and the criteria for judgment; the precise rules for the increase and decrease of class points; the current points of other classes.

He closed his notebook and looked out the window.

The first weekend was over. Starting tomorrow, it would be a full week since school began. According to the rhythm of past data, the timing of the first special exam should be between one and two months after the start of school. If Class D wanted to break the pattern of losing 400 points, they had to be prepared in advance.

And all he could do was to flip open more pages in the illustrated guide before the exam arrived. Sakura Airi, 70. Horikita Suzune, currently being recorded.

And Kushida Kikyo.

He placed her name alongside Horikita's judgment and closed his eyes.

The first week of the new semester; the real game had not yet begun. But everyone was already sitting at the chessboard.