The midday sun streamed through the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows of Koudo Ikusei's No. 1 cafeteria, bathing the bustling hall in a warm, golden glow. The air was a thick tapestry of aromas—savory stews, fresh-baked bread, and grilled meats—interwoven with the rhythmic clatter of cutlery and the bright, chaotic energy of the student body.
At a prime table near the panoramic window sat two second-year students who commanded the space without saying a word.
Nagumo Miyabi leaned back in his chair, his posture a study in calculated relaxation. His platinum-blonde hair shimmered in the light, a few rebellious strands falling across a forehead that spoke of keen intelligence and boundless ambition. His handsome face was currently set in a mask of casual sharpness, his eyes tracking the room like a cheetah scanning the savannah. He idly poked at a plate of exquisite spaghetti, his mind clearly miles away from the meal.
Opposite him sat Asahina Natsume. Her long brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, punctuated by a striking sunflower-shaped hairpin that swayed playfully whenever she moved. She watched Nagumo with a helpless, knowing smile.
"Nagumo, are you planning on eating that?" she asked, her voice tinged with amusement as she tapped her fingertip on the table. "Wasting food isn't exactly the behavior expected of a Student Council Vice President, Miyabi."
Nagumo finally withdrew his gaze from the cafeteria entrance, a cynical, playful curve touching his lips. "Food is merely fuel, Natsume. The main course is the mission." He wiped his mouth with a napkin, a hint of boredom in his movements. "Besides, you know there isn't much in this school that piques my interest lately."
"Oh?" Asahina raised an eyebrow. "Has your obsession with toppling Horikita-senpai finally hit a lull?"
"That is an inevitable destination," Nagumo admitted, his eyes flashing. "But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy the scenery on the way. Especially when an interesting fellow traveler—or a particularly elegant obstacle—appears on the path."
Nagumo's presence in the cafeteria was no accident. As the "uncrowned king" of the second year, his influence was absolute, and his ears were everywhere.
The report from the previous day had reached him within hours: a freshman from Class 1-A had not only breached the upperclassmen wing immediately after the ceremony but had somehow catalyzed his entire class into purchasing institutional secrets. It was a level of strategic boldness unheard of in a new arrival.
Nagumo had personally intervened, ordering the information to be sold at an "absurdly low" price—practically a gift. It wasn't a transaction; it was a lure. He wanted to see who would take the bait.
"Selling core secrets for pennies?" Asahina probed, her sunflower pin bobbing. "You're watering a seedling just to see how tall it grows, aren't you?"
"Precisely," Nagumo chuckled. "If he's mediocre, then it's just a welcome gift. But if he's the one my scouts saw lingering in our wing yesterday morning... a black-haired boy with black-rimmed glasses who moves like he's on a stage..."
Nagumo had already pulled the file: Sakamoto, Class 1-A. The data was suspiciously average—a "perfect" median that smelled of a deliberate disguise.
"A hunch?" Asahina followed his gaze toward the sea of burgundy-clad freshmen.
"Actions don't lie," Nagumo replied. "The person who came up with the 'points-for-info' play won't stay hidden for long. He must be—"
Nagumo's words trailed off. A subtle shift occurred at the cafeteria entrance. It wasn't a loud disturbance; rather, it was as if an invisible wave had parted the crowd. A tall, slender figure emerged from the gap.
Black-rimmed glasses. A distinctive tear mole. An impeccably pressed uniform.
Sakamoto didn't look at the eyes following him. He moved toward the serving line with a gait that was both fluid and frighteningly precise. He didn't slouch or check his phone while waiting. He stood with his feet slightly apart, his center of gravity perfectly centered, his back as straight as a pine. He looked like a masterpiece of geometry placed in a room of scribbles.
His fingertips were slightly curled, a posture of constant, relaxed readiness. Even without trying, his presence forced the rowdy students around him to subconsciously straighten their own backs and give him a wide berth.
"Is that him?" Asahina asked, her eyes widening.
Nagumo didn't answer immediately. He watched as Sakamoto elegantly received his meal and turned to find a seat, creating a pocket of absolute serenity in the middle of the noisy hall.
"Do you see it, Natsume?" Nagumo's voice held a note of genuine, predatory excitement. "He isn't 'blending in.' He's controlling the space. He stands in a crowd, yet he commands the spotlight like it's his birthright."
Nagumo drained his water glass, his fighting intent spreading like ripples on a disturbed pond.
"The water is finally moving," Nagumo murmured, his gaze locked on the boy with the tear mole. "I hope you don't disappoint me, Sakamoto."
Under the mundane surface of a school lunch, a hunt had officially begun.