Chapter 6 – Storms Behind Smiles
When I was a kid, I thought storms only came from the sky.
Rain. Lightning. Black clouds rolling over rooftops.
Now, I know better.
Storms don't always start above your head. Sometimes, they start behind a smile.
Day 13 – Class 1-D
Rika was staring at me again.
Not the casual, curious kind of stare.
It was the quiet kind. The analytical kind. The I-already-know-what-you're-hiding kind. I felt it during homeroom, history, even ethics, where she barely wrote anything yet somehow never got called on.
The worst part?
She didn't look angry. Or smug. She looked... amused.
As if my paranoia was her favorite show.
Ichika sat in front of me, chewing the end of her pen, glancing between me and Rika with raised brows. During a lull in class, she leaned back and whispered:
"She giving you serial killer vibes, or is that just me?"
I tilted my head. "Could go either way."
"She definitely wants something from you."
"Everyone wants something from me."
"Except me."
I raised an eyebrow.
Ichika smiled. "I already know what I want."
I didn't ask what.
Because I wasn't sure I wanted to hear it.
Lunch – Outdoor Commons
The school courtyard was filled with students spread out across stone benches, café tables, and shaded grassy spots. Even from a distance, I could make out the subtle divisions — Class A students dressed impeccably, surrounded by quiet order. Class C with their louder voices and aggressive energy. Class D, a scattered mess.
I sat beneath the sakura tree near the south wall, bento box unopened beside me. My tablet lay on my lap, displaying a blank text file.
I wasn't writing.
Just thinking.
A figure approached. Quiet footsteps. Controlled.
I didn't have to look up.
"Horikita," I greeted.
She didn't respond immediately. Instead, she sat beside me — not across, beside — and placed her own lunch on her lap.
We sat in silence for a moment before she spoke.
"There's something off about those transfers."
"You're not the only one who thinks so."
"I've been watching them. Rika speaks to everyone but says nothing. Miyamoto follows Ayanokouji with his eyes but pretends not to know who he is."
"That's because he does know who he is."
Her gaze slid toward me.
"I figured you might know more than you're letting on."
"I don't know who they are," I said, honestly. "But they know things. And I think one of them sent me something."
She narrowed her eyes.
"What kind of something?"
I hesitated, then pulled the card from my pocket. The one with the sketch of the clock. I handed it to her without a word.
She examined it.
"They're threatening you?"
"Could be a warning. Could be bait."
Her jaw tightened slightly. "This isn't just about you. If someone's targeting you, they're targeting Class D."
I met her eyes. "And you care because...?"
"Because if this class fails, I fail. I won't let that happen."
That much, I believed.
"I'm not asking you to help," I said.
"I'm not offering."
"But you're still sitting here."
She looked away. "Coincidence."
Sure.
Evening – Common Lounge
The sun dipped low through the windows, casting long shadows across the tiled floors. Most of the class had already retreated to their rooms. Only a few scattered students lingered — reading, whispering, studying.
I sat near the back corner, legs stretched out, notebook open but untouched. I was halfway through dissecting the list Horikita had given me when a voice called out softly:
"Kazuki."
I turned.
Kushida Kikyo stood near the snack counter, her expression unreadable.
We hadn't talked much since our rooftop exchange.
I rose and joined her by the vending machine. She didn't speak immediately. Just bought a water bottle, opened it, and took a slow sip.
Then, softly:
"People are saying you're dangerous."
"People say a lot of things."
"They're not always wrong."
I watched her face carefully. Still pleasant. Still composed. But her fingers tapped restlessly against the bottle.
"I think," she continued, "that you know more than you let on. About this school. About certain people."
She looked at me.
"I want to know what game you're playing, Kazuki."
"No game," I said.
She stepped a little closer, too close, voice low.
"If you hurt this class, I will make you regret it."
I didn't move. "That was quick. From friendly to threatening."
"I can be both."
I smiled thinly. "So can I."
For a long second, we just stared at each other.
Then she backed off and walked away without another word.
Chronos ticked softly.
"High emotional volatility detected. Kushida's performance mask is fracturing."
"I noticed."
"She will not act rationally if provoked."
"She's already provoked."
Midnight – Dorm Room
I stared at the ceiling again, hands behind my head.
The events of the day spun through my head like chess pieces.
Rika's stare.
Kushida's threat.
Horikita's stubborn will.
Ichika's... warmth.
Everyone was moving, pulling, reaching for something — status, control, stability, connection.
And I was just trying to understand.
Chronos buzzed gently.
"A new message has arrived."
I sat up instantly.
"From the same source?"
"Unknown. Encryption is different. Simpler."
I reached for my tablet. The message popped up without a sender tag. Just words on a black screen.
You're not the only one watching.
Keep your clock close. The next move is mine.
A pause. Then, as if someone hit enter again:
Don't trust the transfer.
I stared at the message. Then at the clock embedded in my palm.
Chronos ticked once.
"Curious."
"That's one word for it."
"Don't trust the transfer." Singular. Not both?
Rika… or Miyamoto?
Or was the real threat not either of them, but whoever was sending these messages?
Next Morning – Class 1-D
Tension crackled beneath the surface. Like everyone could feel something was about to shift.
Rika walked in last. Calm. Focused. Her gaze swept the room before she took her seat.
I felt Ichika's glance before she turned around to whisper.
"You're wound tighter than usual."
"Bad dreams."
"You don't sleep enough to have dreams."
I gave her a sideways look. "You always monitor my REM cycles?"
"I could."
She hesitated, then added, more quietly:
"If something's wrong... you can tell me."
I didn't answer. Not because I didn't want to — but because for the first time in a while, I wanted to.
And that scared me more than the anonymous messages.