"Tsk."
Ryuuen clicked his tongue, the sound sharp enough to cut. His sinister gaze locked onto the A-class boy calmly finishing his meal, and humiliation coiled around his nerves like a venomous serpent. Without a word, he turned and strode toward the cafeteria exit, his back radiating barely restrained violence—a predator desperate to flee before the gazes pierced any deeper.
He stepped into the afternoon sunlight—the glare harsh, the corridor ahead dim and cool. Just as Ryuuen's silhouette was about to dissolve into the shadows—
A tall figure materialized half a step ahead of him.
Silent. Precise. Impossibly timed.
Sakamoto.
He stood straight as a blade, his burgundy uniform immaculate under the sun. Behind his black-rimmed glasses, his eyes held an unshaking calm, as if the chaos from moments ago had been nothing more than a passing breeze.
Ryuuen's stride froze mid-step. His pupils constricted violently.
What's this bastard trying to pull now?!
His muscles tensed at once. Fists clenched. Shoulders coiled. He resembled a cornered beast ready to tear into its challenger.
Sakamoto paid no mind to the murderous aura engulfing him.
He offered a polite, almost elegant nod. Then, under Ryuuen's glare, he slowly lifted his right hand.
Instinct drove Ryuuen to shift into a defensive posture.
But the raised hand carried no threat.
In Sakamoto's open palm lay a single white smartphone, quietly catching the sunlight.
"Student," Sakamoto said simply, his tone light and conversational.
"This fell during the commotion. It seems to be yours."
He offered the phone forward—not intrusively, not mockingly. Just… plainly.
Ryuuen blinked.
His hand shot instinctively to his pocket—empty.
He hadn't even noticed losing it in his burst of anger. But this phone wasn't merely a device. It was a student's lifeline, identity, and points.
He stared at the phone in Sakamoto's hand, then at Sakamoto's unreadable expression.
He chased me out just… to return this?
Mockery? Pity? Provocation?
Or—was it truly just a simple act?
Sakamoto's calm gaze met his, unflinching—devoid of victory, contempt, or moral superiority. It was that pure, unwavering neutrality that crushed the fury inside Ryuuen more effectively than any ridicule.
"Hmph."
Ryuuen finally snorted, snatching the phone with a rough swipe. No thanks. No softening. Only a glare, as if demanding to see even a crack in Sakamoto's composure.
There was none.
Sakamoto withdrew his hand with natural grace, posture composed as ever. Then—
"Class C is scattered right now," he said. His voice wasn't loud, yet the words landed firmly in Ryuuen's ears. "But scattered sand may still hide gold. If you want to rise, someone must step forward and clench that sand into a fist."
He finished with a small, courteous nod—then turned away without waiting for any reaction.
His figure slipped effortlessly back toward the cafeteria, merging into the crowd with the same quiet presence he always carried. His straight back gradually dissolved into motion and color.
Ryuuen stood frozen, gripping the phone so tightly veins protruded along his hand.
Sakamoto's parting words echoed like stones dropped into deep water:
Beneath scattered sand, there might be gold.
Clench that sand into a fist.
No mockery. No hollow encouragement. Just a cold, clear observation—one that acknowledged ambition without flattering it.
The shame and anger flooding Ryuuen's chest receded in a swift, chilling wave, replaced by a harder, sharper determination.
A strange emotion rose within him—but it wasn't admiration. Definitely not.
Ryuuen shook his head violently, eyes regaining their predatory gleam.
He understood now.
Sakamoto didn't care about petty cafeteria victories.
He cared about the future—the possibility of a unified Class C strong enough to stand in his way.
"Heh…"
A slow, cold smirk crawled across Ryuuen's lips—sharp, hungry, and tinged with bloodlust.
The anger and humiliation that had gnawed at Ryuuen moments ago vanished without a trace—burned away by a hotter, purer flame.
A flame of challenge.
Of conquest.
"Sakamoto… just you wait."
His voice was low, almost swallowed by the wind, yet the burning intention behind it was unmistakable.
He didn't look back.
He strode forward with long, forceful steps, as though the corridor itself bowed beneath the weight of his resolve. The afternoon sun shone fiercely overhead, but Ryuuen Kakeru's eyes gleamed even fiercer—cold, sharp, and blazing with ambition.
Class C?
Scattered sand?
Not anymore.
He would reshape them—by intimidation, by fear, by absolute dominance.
Turn every stubborn grain into a weapon.
Fuse every fragment into a fist capable of smashing straight into Class A.
Straight into Sakamoto.
Sakamoto hadn't belittled him.
He hadn't mocked him.
He had done something far more infuriating—far more stimulating.
He had *recognized* him.
He had handed him a "path," not as charity, but as acknowledgment.
And that acknowledgment had ignited something that Ryuuen himself hadn't realized had cooled.
Now, that fire roared back to life—hotter, more violent, more focused than ever before.
Ryuuen's figure disappeared into the sunlit path toward the school building, every step echoing with renewed brutality and ambition. This time, there was no hesitation. No aimless cruelty.
Only a single, sharp direction:
**Unify Class C.
Rise.
And crush the top.**
---
From a vantage point near the cafeteria windows, Nagumo Miyabi watched it all.
He hadn't missed a single movement—Sakamoto leaving the table, intercepting Ryuuen, the returning of the phone, the short conversation that followed. He picked up his water glass but didn't drink, his eyes reflecting a rare hint of admiration.
"Truly… magnificent."
His voice held genuine appreciation.
"From neutralizing the trap… to that mid-air control… to returning the item at the perfect moment."
He exhaled lightly, a faint smile forming.
"Every step was precisely calibrated. This finesse… he really is like a natural-born chess player."
Nagumo set his water glass down, leaning back slightly in his chair. His fingers tapped rhythmically atop the table—steady, thoughtful.
"But," he murmured, the excitement in his gaze gradually hardening into a strategist's cool, patient focus,
"now is not the time."
He wasn't foolish.
Nor was he impatient.
"It's only the second day of school. What he's shown so far is already astounding, but the true size of his iceberg… the depth of the hidden bulk beneath the water… that still requires time to evaluate."
His eyes glinted with restrained anticipation.
"Let him adapt. Let him learn this academy's rules. Let him stretch his wings in this merit-driven environment…"
A soft chuckle escaped him.
"The higher he climbs, the more satisfying our game will be."
Across from him, Asahina Natsume took a small sip of juice, then gave him a look equal parts amused and exasperated.
"Considerate? I think you're being too nice, Miyabi."
She tilted her head, her sunflower hairpin catching the sunlight like a spark.
"But in a way… this patience suits you. 'Long-line fishing,' isn't it? Waiting for the strongest prey to swim closer on its own?"
Nagumo laughed—a bright, unrestrained sound—and raised his glass lightly toward her.
"Then let us wait and see."
He turned his gaze back toward the corridor where Sakamoto had disappeared. In the depths of his eyes flickered the composed thrill of a strategist sitting before a freshly opened chessboard—
And already anticipating the opponent's next magnificent move.