The first time I met him was in the library.
Back then, he was the one stopping the scuffle between Class C and Class D.
And now—he's the friend of the guy I'm currently in a cooperative relationship with.
I hate him.
The second time we met, that feeling etched itself into my mind so deeply it made me want to throw up.
In studies he's better than me, better even than that Horikita.
I hate it.
In athletics he excels in every single event.
I hate it.
In social connections he hangs around that violent and crazed lunatic.
I hate it.
In appearance he perfectly groomed despite the weird hairstyle.
I hate it.
His blood-red eyes.
I hate it.
His talent... I hate it. I absolutely despise it.
That smug, composed face—like he's seeing right through the inside of my heart—creeps me out.
He has so much talent it mocks all my effort; he should just die.
He can do anything yet stays passive, never taking initiative—that pisses me off.
But once he starts moving, no one can stop him, and that pisses me off even more.
My own personality that wants to stop him but can't.
I failed once and never want to go back to that situation, yet the fits come again.
This is cancer. Suppressing the erosion alone can't stop it anymore.
It has to be removed from the root.
But as a mere human, that's difficult.
Even so—I still want to shine.
I want to be acknowledged by everyone, relied on by everyone, and never lose to anyone.
I want to become that fairy-tale-like person.
I want to be everyone's "hope."
So—if only I had an individuality, a talent that no one could beat.
Hey, if you're going to make that face, just give me some of that talent instead.
Ahh, I hate him so much I'm jealous.
...
"I'm Kushida Kikyo! Nice to meet you!"
Just before noon on the second day of the weekend, I greeted the long-haired guy in front of me with a smile.
Running into him was pure coincidence.
Today, the plan was to go out with Sakura-san and Ayanokouji to get her camera repaired—the one I broke.
On the way to the meeting spot, I spotted him resting in the lounge area.
Honestly, lucky me. This is the perfect chance to close the distance.
He's mysterious, this Kamukura Izuru.
Most rumors about him run wild because he barely talks to people and never denies them.
For example it is rumored that she is close friends with Ryuuen-kun, who is the tyrant of Class C and the only man Ryuuen acknowledges.
Insanely high potential—perfect at anything he's given.
Talked to the student council president as an equal.
Didn't even bother with Vice President Nagumo.
Already has his hands on two beautiful girls.
And supposedly there's a fan club among some first-year girls pushing him and Ryuuen.
In short—he's enigmatic but incredible.
Basically Class C's version of Kouenji!
And now, I'm going to become "friends" with him.
Information is power, connections are power, and trust is the one power I can build that no one can beat me at.
The first step to wielding that power is becoming friends.
To strengthen it, I have to befriend even this creepy-looking guy... no, this uniquely styled person.
Right now, that violence incident is ongoing, so it's easy to start a conversation.
Alright, let's wrap this up quick and join Ayanokouji and Sakura-san!
"Please keep it brief."
His emotionless tone and unchanging expression were a little intimidating.
Even meeting my eyes, he stayed blank.
As expected of someone even more withdrawn than Ayanokouji—his reaction to girls isn't just faint; it's nonexistent.
"Yeah, got it! Oh—so you have plans after this?"
I really wanted to say I was the one who wanted it brief, but I held back and asked lightly.
I hate introverts. They're usually negative, give off an unclean vibe, and above all, they don't put enough effort into themselves.
I wear myself out using every nerve just to talk to people, so I've always wished the other side would try a little harder too.
And introverts are the ones who trigger that frustration most. That's why I hate them.
I radiated an aura of apology, trying to stay on his good side.
"Yes."
"I see! By the way, what are they?"
Still blank. I'm deliberately emphasizing my chest here—look at least a little happy, I couldn't help thinking.
Though I'd be troubled if he reacted as creepily as Class D's idiot trio.
This time I pushed a bit more, tilting my head with a cute smile.
Most guys love these calculated gestures.
Early on, people called it fake or acting, but when I do it now, it looks completely natural.
"Just meeting classmates in a few minutes. More importantly—you're from Class D, correct? Is what you want to ask about the violence incident?"
I was inwardly surprised at how politely he responded.
Unexpected. Honestly, I'd thought he'd brush me off or, worst case, ignore me and keep talking.
No creepy pauses or stuttering typical of weird guys, and he looks me properly in the eye.
Plus, points for reading my intent.
Congratulations, Kamukura-kun! You've surpassed Class D's idiot trio!
"Correct... or rather, how did you know my class?"
"I saw you once in the library."
Huh—he gives off a vibe like he doesn't care about anyone, yet he notices his surroundings properly.
"You remembered me! Back then, you were talking to Horikita-san, so I thought you wouldn't remember someone like me!"
Yeah, annoying. What annoys me most is having to bring that woman's name into the conversation.
"...You left more of an impression."
What was that pause? Was he being considerate?
Normally I'd find it unnecessary, but since the comparison is Horikita-san, I'll let it slide!
Feeling a slight sense of superiority, I flashed my biggest smile of the day and continued.
"Liar! Ichinose-san was there too. Guys' eyes naturally go to the cute one, so you don't have to be considerate~."
"I'm not being considerate. Memory retention varies by person. If hair length, color, appearance, height, behavior match preferences, it's easier to remember."
I nodded as he continued.
"For example, in that case—you appeared to do nothing, yet quickly spoke to Ichinose-san, giving Horikita-san an opening and smoothly bridging the conversation. That kind of action doesn't come overnight, so you must have put in considerable effort?"
His voice was surprisingly easy to listen to despite his looks.
I got the superiority I wanted, and he's skilled at complimenting.
Straight praise for looks is nice, but noticing invisible effort and praising that satisfies my need for approval even more.
His emotionless voice, when listened to closely, is actually quite pleasant... ah, what's that effect called?
The one where liking one thing makes everything else look better too... can't remember, whatever.
"...Hearing you say that makes me happy!"
"Sorry, but shall we get to the point? Time is running short."
"Ah, sorry. Talking with you is just so fun!"
His expression still didn't budge.
Hmm, are his facial muscles dead or something?
"...What's wrong? Did I do something bad?"
"Nothing in particular. I just thought today was unlucky for you."
"That's not true! I got to meet you today!"
I intertwined my fingers, swayed slightly, and leaned closer.
Add a genuinely happy smile to fill the space with fun atmosphere.
Well, talking to him actually improved my mood, so he's off my personal creepy ranking.
Not unlucky. Not exactly lucky either.
Anyway, just get his contact info and hurry to the introverts... I mean, Ayanokouji-kun and Sakura-san!
"That's what makes it unlucky."
"That's not—"
"Because your mind is about to collapse—on my whim."
"!?"
The moment he finished, those red eyes pierced sharply.
Confused by his sudden, contextless shift, my voice flipped.
Scary.
Different from the tension I felt the other day between Sudou and Kouenji—the brink of male violence.
Not from disgust or hatred either.
Pure pressure.
More precisely—something presented as a mix of multiple emotions stirred together.
"I forgot to mention—I'm not involved in the violence incident. I can't give you the information you're hoping for."
"Uh, y-yeah! Then... guess it can't be helped~."
The intensity of those red eyes didn't waver, still fixed on me.
It was only dozens of seconds, yet I felt driven by an inexplicable urgency, like teetering on a cliff.
What is this guy?
Why does the atmosphere change so suddenly?
This aura—like everything mashed and mixed together.
...What the hell is it?
"Boring."
The instant our gazes locked with those deep red eyes, I felt him reading inside me.
My hidden side. My true heart.
I clearly heard his murmured word.
Boring.
My mind went blank, then an indescribable rage surged.
What's boring? That earlier consideration is canceled.
I wasn't calm anymore, and his sudden words—combined with that indescribable atmosphere—made it impossible to control my gestures or tone.
Even so, I somehow adjusted my attitude and expression.
Instinct screamed not to reveal any more cracks.
"...What happened all of a sudden, Kamukura-kun? Did I really—"
"Your 'mask' is starting to slip."
My breath caught in my throat.
Cold sweat trickled down my back.
Nonsense. Just chuunibyou nonsense from a creepy guy.
The atmosphere grew heavier. No—hard to say if "heavier" fits something so chaotic.
On the verge of hyperventilating, I deceived myself, kept my eyes on him without showing unease, and forced the smile to stay.
Stubbornly clinging to my ideal self to ride this out.
But when his next words reached me, that composure vanished.
"Please don't say something like 'what's really wrong.' At this rate, you'll become a boring existence."
He read my next words.
Exactly, word for word. Said them first.
Why? How?
My communication skills were perfect. There shouldn't have been any opening.
We only talked a little—how does he know what I'm thinking?
No, bluffing. Just a delusional guy's random guess.
...Is that really it?
No, calm down first.
He's annoying but capable. He can make deductions beyond my understanding. Don't panic.
Calm down, string words together, bring it back.
Stay defensive—that'll erase the fluster.
"...Something like wanting everyone to adore you—how's that? The reason you use 'that talent.'"
Before I could speak, his words pierced my "mask."
My heart was truly shot through like a dangan and ronpa-ed.
With insufficient, purely intuitive deduction from the situation.
It shouldn't have shaken me this much—I could have just brushed it off.
Yet his words carried weight, and I accepted them.
When I did, that indescribable terrifying atmosphere vanished too.
Finally, I started regaining calm bit by bit.
"...What are you? Why... suddenly..."
No energy left to keep up appearances. I'd completely forgotten my original goal.
That this was a weekend shopping mall, that crowds of people were around—it all stopped mattering as panic overtook me.
"Because I felt like analyzing your... that."
That? ...My communication skills—no, my "mask."
What kind of selfish, ridiculous reason is that?
Because of that, I'm exposing this pathetic side of myself?
"Even if it's an inferior version, having the 'same talent' really does change depending on the user. Quite an enjoyable way to kill time."
"...Same talent?"
"The talent of a 'con artist.'"
Talent of a con artist?
What is this guy even saying?
Hearing that he possessed the same talent, for a moment I thought he shared a similar background to mine—and felt a fleeting relief.
But when the lid was lifted, of all things... a con artist?
Was he saying this power of mine—the ability to seize trust—was born from the talent of a con artist?
"Normally, the talent of a con artist involves impersonating someone else entirely different from oneself. And deceiving others. Once deceived, there's no turning back unless you reset your life. You're the same in that regard."
...Shut up. You don't know anything about me—stay out of my territory.
"Yet you haven't lost sight of yourself. Even while using the con artist's talent—one that, through repeated deception, erodes the self until value can only be found in becoming some ideal someone else."
Stop mocking me already.
That's because this talent of mine isn't something so trivial.
Becoming some ideal someone... it's not that incomprehensible.
Everyone has, at least once, wished to become someone they admire.
A cute idol with charming looks and gestures, a skilled performer, or someone close by with greater talent than oneself.
They've projected themselves onto such existences.
To escape the stress and pain of reality, or to satisfy desires they can't suppress.
I'm simply creating the ideal me that everyone wants, fulfilling my own true desires.
That's all.
So this is for my sake... no, it's not that.
It's not—
'Kikyo-chan, I trusted you...'
'So that's how Kushida-san really felt about her classmates.'
'Everything you did for us was a lie?'
'Disgusting... someone like her will probably scam people and laugh about it in the future.'
'Kushida, is it true? Tell the teacher the truth... the teacher should be able to accept your troubles. But—'
"This might be an interesting find."
Standing before the seated man, I bowed my head as if offering my neck, curving my spine.
If I relaxed my legs even slightly, I'd collapse.
I knew he was saying something.
But my ears—my hearing—rejected his voice.
I didn't want to hear it. Just leave already.
If I heard any more of his words, everything about me felt like it would be overturned from the roots.
So disappear already.
"Let's meet again."
As if my desperate plea reached some god, he stood with those words, the rustle of plastic bags brushing as he passed by me.
I don't possess a talent like his—for treating others' lives like toys.
I'm simply following my desires, wanting to become my ideal self, doing what I can.
See—right now, my redo is almost a success. If only Horikita were gone, it would be perfect.
Redoing things isn't bad.
It ends up deceiving those around me, but I'm not taking anything like a con artist would.
I only trap those who deserve payback. I'm different from a con artist who actively deceives.
"...Kushida?"
Slowly, I turned toward the voice that, like Kamukura's, carried no emotion.
No rejection surged. Because it was familiar.
The plain guy's voice—always with Horikita.
Ah, right. Come to think of it, I was supposed to meet him today.
"...Why that face?"
Seeing him, I felt some relief.
He's someone I actually hate, but this time, I'm glad it's him.
Someone who wouldn't be a problem even if he saw this face.
Switch back. I'll do what I can.
Use this talent for my friends. Earn trust lies.
...This isn't that kind of talent.
He said it himself— it changes depending on the user.
"Ayanokouji-kun. Sorry for being late to the meetup."
"No, it's not time yet. More importantly, Kushida... you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's go—I'm really fine."
Ah— is the current Kushida Kikyo me smiling like usual?
...
"As bare as ever."
Entering my room, her opening line—now practically a tradition—stabbed into the empty space with its usual thorns.
I'd encountered several students, but the walk back was uneventful, and finally, I could make the kusamochi.
I organized the purchases, placing only the necessities in the kitchen area.
"You're making curry for dinner?"
"Yes."
"You really feel like going through all that trouble?"
"I was in the mood."
"Hmm."
Helping sort, Ibuki-san showed clear interest.
Her voice was slightly higher, like a pet waiting for the next command after hearing "wait!"
"Do you want some?"
"! ? N-No, I don't want any."
"Hmm, I see."
"...W-Wait! If you really insist—listen to the end!"
Tired of her tsundere act, I ignored her and moved to the next task.
I put on my usual apron.
Noticing, Ibuki-san donned the one she'd brought.
"Black apron... just as imagined."
"You like that color, don't you?"
"...It's not like that."
In her cute light blue apron, she averted her eyes as usual.
She never learns.
She should realize by now that such lies don't work on me.
"For jokes or light lies, you avert your eyes."
Washing the new bowls and pots, I looked at her and said that.
She stared back suspiciously, a question mark practically floating above her head.
"For lies you want believed, you look the other person in the eye."
"What are you talking about?"
"It's an unconscious habit you show when lying."
"Huh? Really?"
Her eyes widened in surprise.
"I've spent the most time with you since coming to this school. Plenty of time to analyze."
"Huh— I wasn't aware, but thinking back, yeah, maybe."
She posed with left hand on hip, right index finger to her temple—like some thinker.
Did it mean something?
"You're easy to read, for better or worse—so if you ever get into deception games, be careful."
"Those kinds of deceptions barely happen in daily life."
"Well, keep it in the back of your mind. If you think it's pointless, treat it like a horoscope. It'll come in handy someday."
If she always wore that casual smile, she'd probably make friends besides Shiina-san.
As usual, I kept that to myself.
"...Hey, can you do fortune-telling?"
As I thought that, she latched onto the word unexpectedly.
I'd said it jokingly, but of course—I possess the Ultimate Fortune Teller talent too.
"I can. Not one hundred percent accurate."
"...Asking this feels weird... no, forget it. Hey—how do you do fortune-telling?"
Tiring of the exchange, she seemed to drop the pursuit.
Yet unusually for her, she was a bit excited.
Sorry, but that topic doesn't suit her.
"You want to know? People who like fortune-telling usually hate spoilers."
"Yeah, fine. I don't mind that stuff."
I finished wiping the bowls we'd use soon, turning the pots upside down to drain.
"Basically, fortune-telling applies 'cold reading.' Gauge what the person wants to hear from conversation, then present it as if predicting the future."
"Yeah, makes sense. Peering into a crystal and rambling sounds shady anyway."
"Crystal ball reading only hits about fifty percent."
"Fifty percent is plenty... Wait? You can do crystal ball?"
"Yes."
Seeing her stunned instead of skeptical, she really was interested in fortune-telling.
"Then—like tarot and stuff?"
"You just memorize all the patterns."
"Meaning?"
"Tarot generally consists of 22 Major Arcana and 56 Minor Arcana—78 cards total. Factoring upright and reversed positions doubles it to 156 outcomes."
Some apparently ignore reversed, but that's just because they can't memorize or handle them all.
"Based on the draw, track the person's eye movements, habits, cold reading—to infer desired words and craft the response. Mixing truth and lies skillfully adds credibility. That's the gist of tarot."
Combining cold reading with super analytical ability reveals human psychology near one hundred percent.
Like with Kushida Kikyo today.
I had some prior knowledge, but essentially none—yet easily deduced her "hidden side."
Even lies as natural as breathing can't fool my super analysis.
I'd known from the start she was a "liar."
So I chose words she wanted to hear.
She mentioned Horikita-san with slight disgust.
I hinted she was superior in comparison.
Her reactions confirmed the type of negative feelings toward Horikita via cold reading.
And they were refreshingly clear.
From there, I deduced strong need for recognition—superiority over others.
She's a mass of approval-seeking.
Strong approval-seeking feels human—almost beautiful—but highly predictable.
Deceiving others—or in her case, deceiving herself.
Deceiving herself, effectively deceiving others—to hear desired words.
Nothing more than words of respect and envy.
Yet she hasn't lost herself.
Probably because— no, let's end the analysis here.
I'm making kusamochi, after all. Better spend time analyzing my preferences than others'.
By the way, using Ultimate Despair was a whim.
Curious about her con artist talent, I decided to unsettle her first—strip her calm, bare her.
Showed just the tip, spoke words ahead of her.
Simply the quickest method.
"...I see. So from the 156 possible outcomes, adapt the words to the person, make it sound true."
Arms crossed in silence, Ibuki-san neatly summarized.
"Fortune-tellers have it rough. And memorizing all that—what were you doing back then?"
"I had time, so I memorized."
Couldn't say it was directly implanted as data, so I brushed it off.
But that paints me as a pitiful high schooler with no friends.
"I don't plan to pry into your past—don't sound so serious."
She smiled faintly—a cool, Ibuki-like smile.
Relieved. Good she's not the type to dig deep.
"Ah, but—was your hair that long in middle school too?"
"Don't remember cutting it."
I'd trimmed, but never chopped it off.
Never cutting it once would be horror in itself.
"Well, shall we start?"
Preparations complete, yomogi and domyoji powder in hand.
We spent hours enjoying off-season mochi-making!
***
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