The student who had spoken was Shinohara Satsuki, a key member of Kei Karuizawa's gyaru clique. Her group and the lecherous clique led by Yamauchi and Ike were natural enemies. As such, Shinohara had been paying very close attention to their every word, meticulously documenting their blunders in a small notebook to use as ammunition later.
She had been practically vibrating with glee when Yamauchi foolishly stepped forward to question Hirata.
"Seriously, Yamauchi? Don't you get it?" Shinohara said, unable to contain herself any longer. "Ren-san didn't just imitate Koenji. He imitated you! And you too, Ike! He was clearly teaching you a lesson on behalf of everyone who was disgusted by your words! The things you said were so cringeworthy that even when Ren-kun repeated them, you didn't feel a thing? Is your skin just that thick? Hahaha, I'm dying!"
She then triumphantly read aloud from her notebook, recounting the pathetic boasts of Yamauchi and the sleazy proclamations of Ike. With the example of Koenji fresh in their minds, the class instantly realized that the latter parts of Ren's speech were indeed exaggerated imitations of the duo.
Yamauchi and Ike became the laughingstock of the class.
"It's all your fault, Yamauchi!" Ike hissed, turning on his friend. "You just had to question Hirata and you dragged me down with you!"
"You wanted to do it too!" Yamauchi shot back. "You were just a step behind me!"
As the two glared at each other, on the verge of a fight, Hirata finally stepped in to disperse the crowd. "Alright, I believe Ike-kun and Yamauchi-kun have realized their mistakes. Ren-kun was simply holding up a mirror for all of us to learn from." With Hirata's mediation, the class's attention shifted, and the fuming duo was left to lick their wounds.
Later, at the First Gymnasium, Ren learned from a member of the soccer club that while they did participate in off-campus competitions, these opportunities were few and far between. The school's schedule was packed with "important activities" that took precedence, and even when traveling, students were under strict supervision. The dream of using clubs to "relax" outside was dead.
Disappointed, Ren left the club fair before it even officially began. However, his trip wasn't a total waste. He had noticed something interesting. If the school had to cancel participation in so many standard high-school-level competitions due to scheduling conflicts, it meant one thing: the school's calendar was filled with its own unique, mandatory "important events." Special exams.
If I gather the schedules of every club, he realized, I can map out all the dates they can't compete. That will give me the approximate dates of every important school event for the entire year.
This was incredibly valuable information. A new source of income. Troublesome, he thought. I have over two million points I haven't figured out how to spend, and now I have to make more. He decided the points could be his travel fund for after he was expelled.
He found it too tedious to gather the information himself, so he decided to outsource it. He called his homeroom teacher. Since the information wasn't confidential, the school could pull it directly from their servers. For a mere 20,000 points, Ren acquired the schedules for every club.
That evening, after sorting the data, he was stunned. "What the hell? There are 'important events' during winter and summer vacation? This school really does simulate society, right down to 'holiday overtime'!"
He decided to sit on the information for now. It would be worth more once the other classes had tasted the cruelty of competition. The only question was whether he'd still be here to sell it.
Thinking of this, he called Kushida.
"Ren-kun!" she answered immediately. "What does my 'friend' want to talk about?"
"Kushida-san," he said bluntly. "I just want to ask when you plan on reporting me so I can get expelled. Can you give me a heads-up? I need to budget my living expenses so I don't drop out with money left over, or spend it all before I'm gone." He felt that if he didn't get a clear answer tonight, it would affect his sleep.
There were a few seconds of stunned silence on the other end of the line, followed by a sharp...
Beep, beep, beep...
She'd hung up on him.
"Death is the great equalizer, they say," Ren muttered to his phone. "I'm about to be put to 'death' by an accusation of molestation, and she won't even show me some basic courtesy." He shook his head. "How rude."
In a girls' dorm room on a higher floor, Kushida stared at her phone, her mind reeling.
He's taunting me, she thought, her face growing dark. He knows. He knows my threat is empty. He's already figured out that the evidence is completely useless.
Her mind raced back. Ren's bizarre, fearless reaction to her threat had made her suspicious. She had gone back to her dorm to examine the "evidence"—the coat he had touched. After changing, she realized her inner shirt had been soaked with sweat from the tense encounter. Annoyed by the sticky feeling, she had tossed it directly into the washing machine.
Now, in her room, a horrifying realization dawned on her. She looked in the direction of the laundry room, her eyes wide with dread. The handprints were on the coat, but the real, undeniable proof of the struggle—the sweat—had been on the lining. The lining that had, by now, almost certainly been washed clean.
She understood now.
The key point was the lining. The lining was the real evidence. And she had just destroyed it.
Normally, Kushida wouldn't have given her inner shirt a second thought. But Ren Ishikawa's bizarre, fearless reaction to her threat forced her to reconsider everything. A single doubt entered her mind: when Ren had grabbed her, what exactly had he grabbed?
She remembered the feeling of her collar tightening around her neck. Ren's school uniform was open at the collar, revealing the shirt and tie underneath. He had initially intended to use a throwing technique, which requires a firm grip on the collar, not the chest, for leverage.
She pieced it together. His five fingers had printed themselves squarely on the collar of her inner shirt.
But what about the push? When he'd realized his mistake, he'd used his palms to stop her momentum, and she had clearly felt the pressure on her chest. Since her chest was covered by her coat, she had assumed that even if he hadn't left fingerprints, there would surely be palm prints on the coat's outer fabric. But was that true?
Later that day, using the excuse of playing around, she "experimented" on a female friend. She replicated the motion—a grab at the collar, followed by a push to the chest. She discovered that her palm naturally slid under the lapel of the coat, pressing directly against the inner shirt.
The realization hit her like a physical blow. Ren's hand had never touched her coat. The fingerprints, the palm prints, all of the evidence was on her inner shirt.
And if Ren hadn't "reminded" her with his strange phone call, she would have foolishly kept the coat as her trump card. One day, she would have reported him, only to find she had no proof. She might even have been charged with making a false accusation. The unlucky one wouldn't have been Ren, but her. By then, the real evidence would have been washed away countless times.
It was too late. The evidence was already gone.
Why had she been sweating so much? From the "training" session, of course. The bizarre pleasure of venting her pent-up anger, combined with the thrill of being almost discovered, had sent her adrenaline surging. Then, she had run after Ren. The exertion, followed by the sudden stop, had released a wave of heat from her body, primarily through sweat. Her shirt had become sticky and unpleasant, and her first instinct upon returning to her dorm had been to change and wash it immediately to prevent it from smelling.
And just like that, the evidence was gone.
The coat was useless. The shirt was clean. She had no way to threaten him. On the contrary, if she tried, she would only hurt herself.
Could it be? Was this... all part of Ren Ishikawa's plan?
He had made her sweat before she ever threatened him. Had he seen this coming from the very beginning? The thought was terrifying. Was it even possible for a human being to be so calculating?
She tried to reason with herself. Maybe it was all a coincidence. Maybe Ren didn't know the evidence was gone. Maybe his strange words—"It's a deal! I won't give in!"—were just a result of his poor Japanese. Perhaps he'd meant to say, "I agree to your terms (it's a deal), and I won't break our agreement (I won't give in)." Maybe he really had accepted her threat.
But then his phone call came.
The moment he asked, "Kushida-san, when are you going to report me and have me expelled?" she knew the truth.
He spoke with the calm certainty of a man who knew she would report him. He wasn't afraid of her threat at all. And if he wasn't afraid, it meant he knew her evidence was invalid. And if he knew that, it meant everything was under his control.
Everything was his calculation. Ren Ishikawa's calculation was invincible.
I actually tried to threaten a person like that, Kushida thought, a wave of pure horror washing over her. I am simply courting death.
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