Hoshinomiya Chie's fingers traced the chilled porcelain of her cup, the cold seeping into her skin. Each probe, meticulously crafted, had met not with resistance, but with a sort of serene, philosophical deflection. It was like trying to grasp smoke. The frustration was a quiet, humming thing in her chest, but it only sharpened her focus. If the front was impervious, she would flank.
She set the cup down, her smile softening into one of pastoral concern. "Sakamoto-kun, we've spoken of studies and work, and you seem to navigate both with remarkable ease. But as a teacher, I also care about a student's holistic well-being. Their social happiness, for instance." Her voice was a gentle, inviting murmur. "Have you found… kindred spirits here? At a school like Koudo Ikusei, the support of friends can be invaluable."
She watched him closely, hoping to find a crack in the armor of solitude she suspected he wore.
Sakamoto's gaze, seen through the lenses, remained a placid pool. "Your concern is appreciated, Hoshinomiya-sensei. The nature of fellowship lies in resonant understanding. Much like celestial bodies in stable orbits, their convergence creates light. I find allowing connections to form organically is the most harmonious approach."
The answer was a thing of polished, impersonal beauty. It acknowledged the concept of friendship while insulating him from any admission of need or lack. It was neither a confirmation nor a denial; it was a philosophical principle offered as a shield.
Hoshinomiya's smile tightened, a hair's breadth from fracture. Even this? Annoyance flickered, hot and quick, before she banked it. One last card. She shifted tack, her tone brightening with natural anecdote.
"Speaking of impressive students," she said, "Ichinose-san from my class mentioned you recently." Her eyes were keen on his face, searching for any micro-expression. "She was quite impressed by your performance in the Student Council interview. She's a very genuine girl, quite curious about you." She leaned in slightly, inviting confidence. "As someone who was there, what was your impression of her performance?"
It was a masterful pivot. By asking for his evaluation of Ichinose, she hoped to triangulate his views on leadership, on other classes, on the qualities he might respect or dismiss.
Sakamoto inclined his head slightly, as if consulting an internal ledger. "Ichinose-san is affable, possesses strong interpersonal skills, and demonstrates the charismatic qualities of a natural leader. Her interview performance effectively showcased these strengths. She will undoubtedly be a significant asset to Class B."
The assessment was flawlessly accurate, commendatory, and utterly sterile. It was a clinical profile, devoid of any personal sentiment—admiration without warmth, analysis without connection.
Hoshinomiya Chie felt the conversation drain of all momentum. She was not having a dialogue; she was lobbing queries at a fortress that responded with pre-rendered, unassailable missives. Every avenue of inquiry—the practical, the personal, the comparative—led to the same elegant dead end. She wasn't just failing to gather information; she was being given a demonstration of total control. The boy before her wasn't just keeping secrets; he was showing her, with polite, inexorable grace, that some doors were not meant to be opened at all.
But that very frustration crystallized into a single, sharp certainty in her mind: This is him. This preternatural calm, this surgical precision with words, this impervious facade—this was not merely an excellent student. This was the architect. The one who had decoded the system's core and was calmly trading its blueprints. Only a mind operating on this level could have orchestrated it.
Just as this conviction solidified, a soft, electronic buzz cut through the thick silence.
Sakamoto's phone, nestled in his blazer pocket, glowed with an insistent pulse. Hoshinomiya's attention snapped to it, a surge of predatory focus cutting through her frustration. A message. Now? A client? A co-conspirator? This could be the chink in the armor, the unscripted moment.
"Please excuse me for a moment, Hoshinomiya-sensei." His voice was unchanged. "I must attend to this."
"Of course, go ahead," she said quickly, her expression one of benign permission.
He retrieved the phone with that same economical grace. His fingers moved over the screen, his eyes absorbing its contents. Hoshinomiya watched his face with an intensity she could no longer mask, searching for the tell—a flicker of urgency, annoyance, calculation.
There was none. His features remained a masterpiece of stillness. The screen might as well have shown the weather.
Then, he moved.
In one fluid motion, he pocketed the device and turned his calm gaze back to her. "My apologies, Hoshinomiya-sensei. An urgent matter requires my immediate attention. I must take my leave."
Urgent matter. The words were a spark in dry tinder. Related to the message? To his operations?
"Is everything alright? Can I be of assistance?" she pressed, the teacher's concern a perfect cover for her probe.
"There is no need to trouble yourself." The refusal was polite, final. His bow was as precise as ever, but as he turned, his stride carried a new quality—not a run, but a decisive, accelerated purpose that was utterly foreign to his previous languid control. He didn't head for the exit. He disappeared instead through the door to the kitchen, the staff-only area.
Hoshinomiya Chie was left alone with the dregs of her cold coffee. The gentle mask fell away completely, revealing the stark frustration and simmering intrigue beneath. She lifted the cup and drank, the bitter chill a fitting taste for the encounter.
She had gained nothing she could quantify. And yet, she had gained everything.
Her hypothesis was confirmed. And more tantalizingly, a variable had been introduced. The unflappable Sakamoto had been summoned, and he had responded with the first hint of haste she had ever witnessed. What 'urgent matter' could provoke a reaction from someone who treated social and academic minefields with the ease of a stroll?
She set the empty cup down with a soft, definitive click.
"Sakamoto-kun," she murmured to the empty space where he had stood, her voice low and resolved. "We will meet again."
The game was no longer about gathering information. It was about deciphering the one signal that had finally made the perfect receiver move.
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