The classroom door stood open. Teachers behind Riko and Hikari. Students frozen at their desks. And in the center of it all, a scene that defied comprehension.
Takeda Ryuji lay on the floor. Unconscious. His large, intimidating frame was crumpled like discarded paper, completely destroyed. His face was bruised, his body motionless.
And standing over him, completely unharmed, was Kaito Sato.
But this was not the Kaito they knew.
His hand gripped Takeda's hair tightly, lifting the unconscious boy's head slightly off the ground. His knuckles were white. His posture was rigid. And his face—his usually cold, expressionless mask—was gone.
He was pissed.
Not the controlled, logical annoyance at an inefficiency. Not the distant dismissal of social intrusion. This was raw, visceral anger. His eyes were dark, unfocused, staring at something none of them could see—some memory, some wound from the past that this moment had ripped open.
The atmosphere in the room became suffocating. Heavy. Pressurized like the deep ocean.
Nobody dared to speak. Nobody dared to breathe.
The teachers who had rushed to rescue Kaito stood frozen at the threshold, their authority evaporated. They exchanged helpless glances, hesitant to approach, hesitant to even call out. The student they had come to protect was the one now radiating a danger far greater than Takeda ever could.
Ms. Kobayashi finally found her voice, though it trembled. "Sato-kun… please. Let him go."
Kaito didn't respond. His grip remained tight, his gaze lost in that dark, distant place.
"Kaito-kun," she tried again, softer, stepping forward one hesitant step. "Please. Move away from him. It's over."
The sound of his name seemed to penetrate the fog. His eyes flickered, focusing on the teacher's face. But the look he gave her was not one of recognition or compliance.
It was a death stare.
Cold. Empty. Absolute.
Ms. Kobayashi stopped moving. The other teachers behind her stopped breathing.
Then, slowly, as if emerging from deep water, Kaito's gaze cleared. He looked down at Takeda's unconscious form, then at his own hand gripping the boy's hair. His expression shifted—from that terrifying blank fury to something almost like confusion. Like he was seeing the scene for the first time.
He released his grip. Takeda's head thudded softly against the floor.
Without another word, without looking at anyone, Kaito walked toward the door. The crowd of teachers parted instinctively, giving him space. Students pressed back against their desks. A path cleared before him like water before a ship.
He passed Riko and Hikari without a glance.
And then he was gone.
The silence held for one more beat. Then two.
Finally, someone moved. Ms. Kobayashi rushed to Takeda's side, checking his pulse, calling for help. Other teachers snapped into action, dispersing students, calling the office.
But Riko and Hikari remained frozen at the doorway.
The unseen fury they had just witnessed was not the cold, logical Kaito. It was not the patient tutor. It was something ancient, wounded, and terrifyingly powerful.
And for the first time, they both understood: there were depths to him they had never imagined—and perhaps, depths he himself couldn't control.
(End of Chapter 48)