Sunlight slanted through the corridor connecting the teaching buildings, casting sharp, geometric patterns of light and shadow across the clean windowpanes.
Sakamoto's figure moved through the corridor like a precisely calibrated pendulum, each step measured and graceful. The hem of his burgundy uniform shifted subtly with his stride, every motion deliberate yet effortless.
He paused outside the back window of Class 1-B, a near-silent silhouette against the afternoon light. Only the lenses of his black-rimmed glasses caught a glint of cold brightness as the sun refracted off them.
Inside, the air was thick and warm, filled with the hesitant energy of first encounters. Students had just finished their self-introductions and still bore the shyness of strangers, gathering in small groups to exchange tentative plans and expectations.
Beside the podium, a pink-haired girl bent over the newly distributed Key Provisions Handbook, her fingertips tracing the school emblem. Her profile radiated a cloudless smile—until she caught sight of the still silhouette outside the window.
Ichinose Honami froze for a fraction of a second. That posture… that calm, upright composure… had she seen him at the entrance ceremony? Surely Class A?
One hand rested casually in his pocket, the other relaxed by his side. His gaze swept slowly and deliberately over every face in the classroom—not scrutinizing, not invasive, but quietly taking measure of each person.
When his eyes passed over her, he gave the slightest nod, the corner of his mouth curving into a barely-there polite arc, like acknowledging a minor detail in a landscape painting before moving on.
"What are you looking at, Ichinose-san?"
The girl next to her tilted her head, curious. Outside, nothing remained in sight—only the fleeting shadows of swaying trees on the windowsill.
"Nothing," Honami murmured, smiling and shaking her head. But her fingertips unconsciously rubbed the handbook cover.
"I just… feel like someone is measuring this world with a ruler."
The impression lingered—a calm, benevolent presence, distant yet quietly precise.
In Class 1-C, the faint hum of conversation filled the room. Desks were arranged casually; a few boys whispered among themselves, while someone in the back row dozed atop their desk. Ryuuen Kakeru leaned against the window, flipping an eraser between his fingers, until it stopped mid-tumble.
Outside, a figure paused. Black-rimmed glasses. Posture as straight and rigid as a spear. Calm, deliberate observation.
Ryuuen's lips twisted into a sneer. Putting on an act. The boy's gaze was methodical, recording, devoid of curiosity, like a peacock surveying territory.
"Hmph," Ryuuen scoffed, the eraser snapping back into his palm. "Which class sent the spy? So eager to gather intel?"
He watched for a moment longer, then turned his attention back inside, quietly memorizing the figure's face.
Class 1-D erupted into chaos. Some argued loudly about clubs, others buried themselves in books, chalk bounced across desks. Horikita Suzune frowned and edged away from the noise, sitting alone by the window, back perfectly straight, absorbed in her handbook.
A shadow fell across the page.
She looked up.
Outside, Sakamoto stood silently, hands resting naturally at his sides. His posture was relaxed yet impossibly upright. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping slowly across the classroom.
As he passed over the playful clusters, there was a hint of tolerance; over the solitary figures in corners, a touch of understanding. Finally, his gaze lingered on her for a fleeting, almost imperceptible moment—enough to leave an impression, yet vanish before it could be named.
Horikita felt a subtle pressure, not cold, but a penetrating focus that made her instinctively straighten her back even further.
"Classmate Ayanokoji," she whispered to her neighbor, her voice low, "that person outside the window…"
"The one from the bus," Ayanokoji Kiyotaka replied flatly, his gaze following hers.
He remembered the figure—the boy who had, with detached elegance, used an improvised umbrella stand to create a seat for an elderly woman that morning. Now, he observed Class D with the same calm, sharp focus. His eyes were not hostile; they were meticulous, as if sketching a portrait.
His gaze lingered just long enough on students with defiant expressions or flickering glances, his brow furrowing ever so slightly, before moving on, evaluating something invisible.
Horikita pursed her lips, fingertips unconsciously tightening on the handbook. "What is he doing? Memorizing faces?"
"More like building preliminary profiles," Ayanokoji murmured, voice devoid of emotion, tracking Sakamoto's line of sight with cold precision.
The figure outside the window completed his silent survey of Class D. As he withdrew his gaze, he nodded almost imperceptibly, a quiet farewell.
Turning away, the hem of his coat traced a perfect, sharp arc—serene, elegant, almost as precise as a blade's edge.
Back in Class A, the atmosphere did not fully relax after Sakamoto's departure. His words about "points" and "worthiness" lingered like ripples across a still lake.
Katsuragi Kohei remained in his seat, brows furrowed, fingers tapping unconsciously against the desk. One hundred thousand points—was it just daily allowance? Or, considering Sakamoto's final remark—"use it where it's truly worth it"—did the sum carry a deeper significance?
"Inseparable from the honor and disgrace of the collective…" He replayed Mashima's and Sakamoto's words repeatedly, probing for hidden rules, for patterns.
Sakamoto's peculiar behavior always seemed to point to something crucial, yet just out of reach.
Hashimoto Masayoshi, by contrast, appeared invigorated. He leaned against the window, eyes glinting as they traced the upperclassmen's building.
"Hey, Sakayanagi," he said, turning toward the silver-haired girl, excitement bright in his smile. "Do you think Sakamoto-kun's paper airplane—specifically tossed under the senior high school building—is hinting at something? Like… the answer is there?"
The thought grew more plausible the longer he considered it.
"Shall we make a little 'friendly visit' to the senior high school building? Maybe we can dig up some insider knowledge about the points system?"
Sakayanagi Arisu sat upright, fingers tapping lightly on her cane. Upon hearing Hashimoto's suggestion, she tilted her head slightly, a subtle, playful curve gracing her lips.
"Hashimoto-kun's idea is… interesting," she said softly, clearly.
"Sakamoto-kun stared out that window for a long time. Perhaps… he's been observing the senior high school building all along."