"Senpai, I'm counting on you~"
As expected, Mibu Sayaka's path was blocked the moment she stepped onto the first floor.
But it wasn't an ambush. No—Chiba Erika had been waiting for her all along.
From the shadow of a marble pillar, Erika stepped forward with her usual grace. Without a word, she casually tossed a wakizashi onto the floor in front of Sayaka.
"If I'm not mistaken… you're Mibu Sayaka, right? The runner-up in the national junior high girls' kendo competition two years ago. Mibu-senpai."
Her voice was calm, almost teasing, yet her gaze was razor sharp.
"I'm Chiba Erika, Class 1-E."
Then, with a smile that looked almost mischievous on her fair model-like face, Erika tilted her head and said:
"Would you honor me with a match, Mibu-senpai?"
....
"Sou ka… I'll leave it to you to take Mibu-senpai to the infirmary then. Don't worry, she isn't too heavy."
Erika spoke lightly, placing Sayaka gently into Mahiro's arms.
By the time Yotsuba Mahiro descended the escalator, the match had already ended.
Mibu Sayaka had lost—utterly.
Though she managed to barely block Erika's finishing strike, the sheer force behind the Chiba heir's baton fractured her bones. The pain was too much, and she fainted on the spot.
But on her face, there was no bitterness—only a calm, almost ethereal smile. It was the smile of someone who had finally found what she sought: recognition.
Validation from the proud daughter of the Chiba family. Recognition that gave her value.
As Mahiro cradled her and looked down at Sayaka's peaceful sleeping face, he found himself speaking aloud without thinking:
"Erika… your kenjutsu must be really strong, huh?"
"That's right~" Erika stretched languidly in front of him, completely unconcerned about appearances, before casually tucking away her baton.
"That woman, Watanabe Mari, is technically a disciple of our Chiba-ryū. Mari-sempai is what we'd call a 'Catalog.' As for me, I'm still considered 'Inkyo.' But…" she grinned, "if I went all out, I'd be somewhere close to 'Menkyo.'"
Then, narrowing her eyes, she asked suspiciously, "Why the sudden question, Mahiro-kun? Don't tell me you're thinking about challenging me."
"Un."
Mahiro nodded without hesitation, his tone utterly frank.
He was genuinely interested in the depth of the Chiba style's 'Menkyo.'
"Hooooh~~~" Erika drew out her response in a playful singsong, tilting her head as her lips curved upward. She studied him for a long moment before chuckling softly.
"If it were just anyone else, I'd definitely say no. But if it's you, Yotsuba-kun… maa, maybe I could make an exception."
She wasn't the only one curious. Just as Mahiro wished to measure himself against her sword, Erika too was intrigued by the mysterious strength hidden within him—the strength that had already defeated Mibu Sayaka.
.....
As dusk painted the sky in muted gold, the situation inside the school finally calmed.
With the terrorists suppressed and most of their strongholds dismantled, the crisis neared its end. The ringleader—none other than Captain Shika of the kendo club—had already been captured.
In the infirmary, three of the student council's central figures gathered, listening as Mibu Sayaka, lying weakly on the bed, poured out her confession.
Yet the room was unusually heavy with silence.
All eyes drifted toward the stern but composed figure of Watanabe Mari, Chairperson of the Public Morals Committee.
The reason was simple.
Sayaka's confession touched upon a memory that implicated Mari-senpai herself.
Years ago, Sayaka had admired Watanabe Mari's sword to the point of reverence. During the kendo club's recruitment, she had begged to spar with her. But her request had been denied.
That rejection, cold and unyielding in Sayaka's mind, had left her scarred—and ultimately led her down the wrong path.
"No way… Mari-senpai really did something like that?"
"Unexpected, isn't it? And the worst part is… she doesn't even remember. That's how it is sometimes—the one who wounds never knows how deep the cut runs. Baka desu yo." Erika's voice was laced with dry irony.
Watanabe Mari flushed crimson, torn between shame and the urge to defend herself. Mahiro and Erika's back-and-forth only worsened her discomfort.
"Erika-chan, that's enough."
Student Council President Saegusa Mayumi interjected gently. She had wanted to tease Mari as well, but seeing her close friend so cornered, she softened her tone.
"I don't think Mari is the kind of person to hurt someone deliberately. There must have been some misunderstanding."
"Yes, Sayaka-san. Truly, it was never my intention."
Watanabe Mari forced herself to explain, her voice steady but tinged with regret.
She remembered that day vaguely. She had just finished reprimanding the kendo club for being reckless when Sayaka approached her, asking for guidance.
It was true she had refused—but not with mockery.
What she had actually said was:
"I'm sorry. With my current skill, I cannot be your opponent. It would only waste your time. You should look for someone more suitable, someone who can truly push your swordsmanship further."
For Mari, who excelled in magic but not in pure sword technique, it had been simple honesty. She knew Sayaka was the superior swordswoman.
But words are fickle.
What one person intends as humility, another might hear as rejection.
Yet, when those words resurfaced in the quiet infirmary, Sayaka's body trembled. Tears welled in her eyes without her even realizing it.
The silence was heavy, suffocating.
"Then… I misunderstood all this time…" Sayaka whispered, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her cheeks. Droplets stained the clean white bedsheet, spreading like dark flowers on snow.
"I… I'm such a fool…" "One-sided misunderstandings of Watanabe-senpai… belittling myself…." "Hatred born of my own delusion… I wasted an entire year on nothing…"
Her sobs broke the air, raw and fragile. No one spoke. They could only watch her, sorrow written across their faces.
Pity… for Sayaka, who had lost her way because of a simple misinterpretation. Hatred… for those who had preyed on her weakness and twisted it to their advantage.
But Yotsuba Mahiro's sharp eyes saw through it.
As someone who carried the bloodline of Yotsuba, Mahiro's insight into illusions and the mind was unparalleled. Even at a glance, he could tell—Sayaka's memory had been tampered with. And the work was sloppy. Crude alterations had left glaring inconsistencies.
Mahiro sighed softly and stepped forward. "I don't think Mibu-senpai wasted her time at all. Your sword, Mibu-senpai, is still as dazzling as ever."
Sayaka lifted her teary eyes, stunned. "…Mahiro?"
He smiled, gently brushing his hand through her hair, his touch both reassuring and protective.
"That's right. Compared to the 'Kendo Komachi' of last year, you've become so much stronger. You've polished your blade, step by step. That effort is real—no one can take that away."
The next voice was Erika's, who had just crossed swords with her. "Exactly. You didn't let your hatred trap you. You didn't drown in self-pity. You sharpened yourself into someone stronger. That's the proof."
Her tone was sincere, rare for the usually cheeky Chiba Erika.
Mari's eyes widened in surprise. She knew Erika well. The proud daughter of the Chiba seldom praised others outright—never once when she had been Mari's disciple. For her to say such words to Sayaka was astonishing.
"…Mahiro-kun, Erika-chan… thank you both."
Sayaka's lips curled into a trembling smile, though tears still streamed down her cheeks like an unstoppable river.
Finally, she turned back toward Mahiro. Her voice was soft, almost pleading. "Mahiro… could you grant me a request?"
He nodded. "Please speak."
"Could you… come a little closer?"
"Like this?"
"A little closer…"
"Alright."
He stepped toward her, obediently following her words. But the moment he was within reach, Sayaka suddenly wrapped her arms around him, pressing her warm body into his.
Her fingers clutched his clothes desperately, her face buried into his chest. The faint fragrance of shampoo and the warmth of her tears reached him.
Sayaka's quiet sobs swelled into full crying, her voice muffled against him.
Mahiro didn't push her away. He simply wrapped his arms gently around her trembling shoulders, holding her close.
The others looked on, surprised, but no one interrupted.
Mahiro softly patted her back, his expression calm, though his thoughts had already drifted to a distant resolve.
There was only one path left—
To crush Blanche completely, and repay this cruelty with righteous vengeance.