The next day, the campus was filled with the slightly chaotic vitality unique to the new school year. Club recruitment posters covered the bulletin boards, and students discussed their preferred clubs in small groups.
In the teachers' office, Hiratsuka Shizuka was looking down through the freshmen's files and club assignment sheets. Her gaze fell on the name "Yui Yuigahama," and her brow furrowed slightly. Her fingertips tapped lightly on the desk, and finally, she picked up a red pen and wrote "Tennis Club" in the club assignment column.
The Tennis Club had a lively atmosphere with mostly girls, and with girls like Miura Yumiko there—who, though somewhat forceful, was not bad at heart—she should be able to take good care of this seemingly simple and cheerful freshman. More importantly—Hiratsuka Shizuka's pen tip paused forcefully—the Tennis Club's activities were mainly held in the Outdoor Gymnasium, far from the Teaching Building, and training usually took place after school... This meant that the chances for Yui Yuigahama to come into contact with Kanjuro, who stayed in the classroom almost perpetually, would be greatly reduced.
As for Kanjuro... Hiratsuka Shizuka took a deep breath and flipped to Kanjuro's file. Looking at that unchanging enrollment photo, a complex chill and a hint of bitterness she didn't want to admit even to herself welled up in her heart. She couldn't assign him to any normal club with multiple participants. That would be no different from sending lambs into a tiger's mouth.
Her gaze scanned the club list, finally stopping at an almost forgotten corner—the "Service Club." According to the records, this club had long existed in name only, with no current members, and the activity room was assigned to an almost unused empty classroom in the oldest school building.
A club with only him.
An isolated, marginalized position.
This was perhaps the most helpless yet direct restrictive measure she could think of for now. She took her pen and, with a posture of near-determination, wrote the three characters for "Service Club" in Kanjuro's club assignment column.
At noon, most of the other teachers in the office had gone for lunch or rest, making it exceptionally quiet. Hiratsuka Shizuka was buried in organizing documents when the door was pushed open soundlessly.
Even without looking up, that familiar aura with its invisible sense of oppression already let her know who the visitor was. She forced herself to remain calm and continued looking at the papers in her hand until the pair of polished leather shoes stopped in front of her desk.
She slowly raised her head and met the visitor's eyes, which were so deep they seemed bottomless. Kanjuro had no expression on his face, just quietly looking at her.
"What is it? Do you need something from me?" Hiratsuka Shizuka tried to make her voice sound businesslike, but her slightly trembling fingertips still betrayed her nervousness.
Kanjuro didn't answer immediately. His gaze swept over the club assignment sheet spread out on her desk, accurately finding his name and the lonely "Service Club" following it. He sighed softly, a sigh in which no joy or anger could be heard, yet it made Hiratsuka Shizuka's heart tighten suddenly.
"Shizuka-sensei," he spoke, his voice steady yet carrying a cold interrogation, "you actually... dare to isolate me?"
Hiratsuka Shizuka's heart skipped a beat. He knew, and he had pointed it out directly. She had imagined his various reactions—anger, mockery, threats—but she hadn't expected such a blunt question. Being watched by those eyes that seemed to see through everything, all her pre-planned defenses appeared vulnerable.
Grievance, fear, and that long-suppressed, twisted emotion instantly crushed her feigned composure. She stood up abruptly, hands propped on the desk, her eyes uncontrollably turning red, her voice carrying a suppressed sob and a desperate impulse:
"Yes! I just want to isolate you! I also don't want... I don't want you to get too close to other girls!"
These words blurted out, and even she was stunned. This was clearly an unprofessional accusation mixed with personal feelings.
Seeing her agitated state, the calm mask on Kanjuro's face finally showed cracks. It wasn't anger, but a... knowing expression, one filled with cruel interest.
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow slightly, took a step forward, approaching the desk, and leaned forward to meet Hiratsuka Shizuka's gaze across the table. "So... you're jealous?"
"I'm not!" Hiratsuka Shizuka instinctively denied it, but her cheeks burned uncontrollably.
Kanjuro didn't give her another chance to explain. He moved around the desk, his movements so fast she didn't have time to react. He grabbed her wrist with such force that she cried out in pain.
"It seems I need to remind you," his voice dropped, carrying an unquestionable threat and a certain husky desire, "who is the one in control."
"Kanjuro! This is the office! Let me go!" Hiratsuka Shizuka struggled in panic, but her hands were easily pinned behind her back, and she was pressed against the cold desk. Scattered documents fell to the floor with a rustle.
"So what?" he whispered in her ear, his hot breath brushing against the side of her neck. "Didn't you already know... that I am someone capable of doing anything?"
His free hand began to move roughly. Hiratsuka Shizuka's white shirt jacket was torn open, buttons popping off with a crisp sound. She—
After an unknown amount of time, the sounds in the office that made one's face flush with embarrassment finally subsided.
Kanjuro unhurriedly straightened his clothes, as if what had just happened was merely a trivial matter.
He glanced at Hiratsuka Shizuka, who was slumped in front of the messy desk, her clothes disheveled and her eyes vacant, with no expression on his face.
"Service Club, is it?" He adjusted his cuffs, his tone returning to its previous flatness, as if the violence just now had never occurred. "I'll go."
He walked to the door, his hand gripping the handle. He paused for a moment but did not look back.
"Shizuka, the 'punishment' is over. But remember, there won't be a next time."
Having said that, he pulled open the door and walked out composedly, as if he had only come to consult on an ordinary academic matter.
The office door closed gently, cutting off the outside world.
Hiratsuka Shizuka slowly slid down from the table, collapsing onto the cold floor and curling her body up.
Tears finally burst forth, mixed with humiliation, fear, and a deeper sense of sinking that made her loathe herself.
She had tried to protect others and isolate the danger in this way, but in the end, it only proved once again that in the face of this man's absolute power and will, all her resistance was futile and would even... lead to a more complete plunder.
And deep in her heart, that twisted throb caused by his 'attention' (even if in the form of punishment) made her feel an utter sense of despair.
On the ground, the club assignment form with "Service Club" written on it lay there quietly, like a silent irony. After school at Sobu High School, the clamor gradually settled. Inside the Service Club's activity room, the setting sun cast long, warm patches of light on the floor through the clean glass windows.
Kanjuro sat alone by the window, holding a thick, hardbound book with a slightly worn spine, looking relaxed. This was one of the places in the school where he spent the most time; it was quiet and sparsely populated, fitting his persona as a slightly withdrawn honor student. Of course, the deeper reason was that it allowed him to observe this campus—which he viewed as a "playground"—with minimal interference.
The door was pushed open gently and then quickly closed. Kanjuro didn't look up, as if he already knew who the visitor was.
Hiratsuka Shizuka stood at the door, not approaching immediately. She looked at Kanjuro's calm profile in the sunset; that youthful face, unchanged from ten years ago, was like a cold needle piercing her eyes and heart.
Ten years ago, she was still a high school girl full of a sense of justice and curiosity, persistently investigating the dark rumors of Sacred Scripture Academy (now Sobu High School), and eventually... she stumbled upon Kanjuro's secret and fell into his clutches. That experience in the basement of the Old School Building, a mix of coercion and a certain eerie sinking, had completely altered the trajectory of her life.
For him, she felt a fear that reached her very marrow and an indelible hatred, yet she also possessed a twisted attachment and... love that she herself despised. It was this extremely complex emotion that drove her to proactively apply for a transfer back to this school after becoming a teacher. She wanted to protect students who might be as ignorant and fearless as she once was from this demon. But deep down, did she not also harbor a secret desire to be close to him again?
She hadn't expected that after ten years, Kanjuro would still be here, still that eternal high school student. Time had stagnated for him, as if ruthlessly mocking all her efforts and struggles.
"You're still the same as ever." Hiratsuka Shizuka finally spoke, her voice carrying a trace of imperceptible dryness. She walked over and sat in the chair opposite him, her gaze sharply scrutinizing him. "Loitering in a club with hardly anyone, putting on an act."
Kanjuro finally looked up from the pages of his book. Those deep eyes looked at her, devoid of ripples, containing only a knowing calm, even carrying a hint of playfulness. "It's quiet here." He closed the book, his fingertips lightly tapping the cover. "And, Teacher Shizuka, didn't you 'put on an act' and return here too? To... 'protect' the students?"
--- He deliberately emphasized the word "protect," and the mockery in his tone made Hiratsuka Shizuka's body tense up instantly.
"Kanjuro!" she lowered her voice, sounding a warning. "I'm warning you, stay away from my students! Especially... those girls!"
Kanjuro laughed softly. That smile appeared exceptionally handsome in the sunset, yet also exceptionally cruel: "Shizuka, it's been ten years, and you're still so naive. Do you think... warnings work on me?" His gaze seemed to pierce through her soul, seeing the unsightly wavering in her heart. "And, did you really return purely for the sake of the students?"
Hiratsuka Shizuka looked as if her most hidden wound had been poked. Her face turned pale, and she stood up abruptly, the chair legs scraping against the floor with a harsh sound. She couldn't stay any longer; facing him, all her defenses seemed so ridiculous and fragile.
"Suit yourself!" She threw down those words and practically fled in a panic.
Kanjuro watched her hasty departure, the curve of his lips remaining. Hiratsuka Shizuka... a pitiful toy he had permanently branded, yet who constantly tried to resist. Her struggle, her hatred, and her love were, in his eyes, nothing more than a small diversion in this long, boring life.
Meanwhile, in the faculty office of Class C in the Teaching Building.
Hiratsuka Shizuka took several deep breaths before she managed to calm her heart, which had been unsettled by Kanjuro. She picked up a club application form from the desk and looked at the young girl standing before her...
The girl had long, black, smooth hair, and her features were as exquisite as a doll's. Her skin was fair, and her eyes were cold and clear. It was Yukinoshita Yukino.
"Classmate Yukinoshita," Hiratsuka Shizuka tried to make her tone sound professional, "why do you want to join the Service Club?" She glanced at the application form. "Based on your grades and performance, there should be more... active clubs you could choose."
Yukinoshita Yukino's gaze calmly swept over the words "Service Club" on the application form, then seemed to look through the office window toward that quiet activity room in the distance. Her voice was clear and devoid of emotion: "It's the club with the fewest people. I want to be quiet and alone."
This reason fit the impression she gave. But what Hiratsuka Shizuka didn't know was that Yukinoshita Yukino knew the person in the Service Club—Kanjuro. In her memories from childhood to now, Kanjuro was the mysterious and handsome "Uncle Kanjuro" who would occasionally visit her mother, Yukinoshita Yukino. Her mother's attitude toward this "uncle" was complex and hard to define, while Yukino herself, although maintaining a polite distance on the surface, harbored a kind of affection for this "uncle" who radiated a unique charm and seemed omnipotent—an affection she hadn't even clearly defined herself.
She didn't know that beneath this vague affection lay a terrifying truth—she, Yukinoshita Yukino, just like Yui Yuigahama, had Kanjuro's blood flowing in her veins.
She chose the Service Club for the reason she stated: to seek peace. But subconsciously, was there also a sliver of desire to be closer to that "Uncle Kanjuro" who made her curious and concerned? Even she couldn't be sure.
Hiratsuka Shizuka looked at Yukinoshita Yukino's cold and aloof appearance and sighed in her heart.
This girl seemed calm and strong enough; perhaps... she wouldn't be easily misled by Kanjuro? She could only hope so in her heart. Forget it, even if she is charmed, there's nothing I can do; what will come, will come.
"Alright, I approve your application." Hiratsuka Shizuka stamped the application form. "The Service Club is on the second floor of the Old Building, you can go take a look now."
"Thank you, Teacher." Yukinoshita Yukino bowed slightly, took the form, and left the office.
Hiratsuka Shizuka watched her departing back and rubbed her temples, feeling a deep sense of exhaustion.
Kanjuro's existence was like a pebble thrown into a lake, making it impossible for anyone near him to remain calm. And she, being both a former victim and a current guardian, was tormented by this split position.
She only hoped that Yukinoshita Yukino's calmness and wisdom would allow her to avoid that beautiful yet all-consuming darkness.
At that moment, inside the Service Club activity room, Kanjuro looked up as if sensing something and glanced toward the door. A deep, inscrutable curve formed at the corner of his mouth.
A new chess piece seemed to be moving toward the chessboard of its own accord.
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