Horikita Suzune fell silent for a long moment.
She glanced sideways at Shimizu, then just as quickly looked away.
"...You're not wrong." Her voice softened but remained audible. "Shimizu-kun... could probably do it."
Even she seemed surprised by her own words.
But she couldn't think of a rebuttal—Kushida Kikyōwas right.
In this class, the only person who seemed capable of engraving "persistence" into their daily life like her brother was Shimizu Akira.
After all, the boy who trained relentlessly every morning, whose figure she'd occasionally spot on the track during her own runs, carried a tenacity that rivaled anyone's.
"..."
Kushida's eyes flickered with genuine surprise.
She hadn't expected Horikita to concede so readily—without even her usual sharp retorts.
Anyone with half a brain could see how fiercely Horikita revered her brother, to the point of "tolerating no dissent."
(How interesting.)
Her mental abacus clicked rapidly.
(She's actually willing to compare Shimizu to her brother?)
(Don't tell me... she likes him?)
She dismissed the thought almost immediately.
When she'd mentioned her "date" with Shimizu earlier, Horikita hadn't reacted at all—not even a frown.
(But that doesn't mean she's completely indifferent. She's probably just emotionally dense!)
(Still, saying "he could probably do it" means she respects him. This kind of tacit approval runs deeper than outright praise.)
The realization deepened the sly curve of Kushida's smile.
(Heh. So she does have feelings for him.)
But the moment the thought solidified, her lips stiffened, her expression darkening imperceptibly.
(Wait—!)
A realization struck like lightning, her fingers tightening around nothing.
(If they grow closer, would Horikita tell Shimizu about... my middle school past?)
She knew girls like Horikita too well—cold on the surface, yet stingy with genuine praise.
For someone who constantly measured others against her brother, admitting "he could probably do it" was tantamount to high praise.
(So right now, the only boy she respects... is Shimizu?)
The conclusion sent an inexplicable jolt of panic through her.
She could already picture it: someone like Horikita, once committed, would pour out every secret to her partner.
And if she and Shimizu started dating—
(I really don't want Shimizu knowing my true nature...)
Unbidden images flashed behind her eyes—not just her classmates' disgust upon discovering her real self, but Shimizu's face twisting with disappointment.
(No, he wouldn't dare hate me. I still have his leverage—that uniform with his fingerprints. I never washed it. It's still tucked away in my room.)
The thought eased the tension in her shoulders.
(If he dares to despise me, he's signing his own death warrant.)
Her gaze dropped, a glint of cunning flashing through her eyes as her lips curled into a peculiar smile.
(I'll expose how he groped me that day. Let the whole school know. If I'm going down, I'm dragging him with me.)
The mental image steadied her racing heart.
No need to panic. She still had her ultimate trump card—Shimizu Akira himself.
At worst, they'd transfer schools together.
If she fell, she wouldn't let him remain here unscathed—she'd always been this selfish.
Just like that night, when she'd hissed "Betray me, and you're dead" into his face, she hadn't been bluffing.
Though... if it came to that, she might grant him some "compensation."
Hadn't he mentioned liking lap pillows? After expulsion, he could have all the lap pillows he wanted.
A soft cough snapped her back to reality—too early for these thoughts. There wasn't even a hint of romance between them yet.
Besides, hadn't yesterday's "date" with Shimizu already given her insights into Horikita's personality?
She'd find more opportunities to probe.
If Horikita proved uncooperative, she'd simply dig up dirt on her instead.
As long as she held leverage, Horikita wouldn't dare spill her secrets.
Only then could she truly relax.
Only then would her middle school past remain buried forever.
Kushida smiled and waved before returning to her seat, leaving Shimizu staring at her back, utterly baffled by her sudden pivot toward him.
"Horikita, there's something I should tell you." He hesitated, then forged ahead. "I was the one who told Kushida about your relation to the student council president."
Horikita's grip on her pen tightened. "So, what kind of potion did she feed you?"
"She asked, so I answered. That's all." Shimizu paused. "But if you're asking whether there was a 'potion'... well, yeah."
The moment the words left his mouth, he recalled Kushida's warning—the lap pillow was a secret.
Now that he thought about it, that "lap pillow" had been a trap wrapped in sugar.
In a way, it had been a potion.
"What exactly did you do?" Horikita's voice rose slightly, her gaze sharpening. "Something you can't talk about?"
Though she rarely dwelled on such matters, she'd seen enough movies to vaguely grasp the implications of "can't talk about."
The moment the phrase registered, her ears burned, her mind conjuring hazy images against her will.
But that was absurd—they weren't even dating. How could they have...?
Then again, this was Kushida Kikyō. The kind of girl who charmed everyone effortlessly might view such things casually.
Don't tell me... they kissed?