Kanjuro's cold analysis of "affection being useless" and "human nature being inherently cheap" was like a poisoned icicle, piercing Reika Kitami until she was bruised all over. Her face was pale and her lips trembled slightly. She wanted to refute him, but she found that in the face of Kanjuro's self-consistent dark logic—built on a foundation of manipulation and control—any argument based on morality or emotion appeared pale and powerless.
Seeing her speechless, the cold sneer at the corner of Kanjuro's mouth gradually turned into a calm filled with a sense of endless void. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze seemingly penetrating the walls of the infirmary to look toward a distant and hollow horizon.
"Kitami," his voice lowered, losing some of its previous sharpness but gaining a heavy exhaustion, "you don't know. The longer you live and the more you see, the more tired you feel."
He raised his hand, his fingertips making a hollow grasping motion in the air as if trying to catch something, but ultimately it was in vain.
"The human heart," he said slowly, his tone carrying a mockery and sorrow that saw through everything, "is the most fragile, fickle, and least resilient thing in this world. Family, love, friendship... they seem solid, but in reality, they collapse at a single touch. To personally destroy this fragility, watching it twist and deform in despair, or... bloom into another kind of twisted loyalty—do you think this is truly an unforgivable mistake?"
His gaze refocused on Kitami's face with a near-cruel curiosity: "Sometimes, the parties involved are not necessarily in total pain; they... might even enjoy this process of being absolutely controlled and completely subverted, right? There is only a thin line between pain and pleasure."
As if to corroborate his words, the air behind Kanjuro distorted slightly, and a figure gradually condensed into form.
It was a girl with a tall, straight posture wearing ancient armor, her long golden hair tied behind her head. Her face was beautiful but bore the coldness and vicissitudes of someone who had survived war and betrayal. It was Jeanne d'Arc. Her violet eyes were calm and waveless; she first gave Kitami a faint glance, then her gaze fell upon Kanjuro. Deep within those eyes hid an indescribable, twisted tenderness.
"So," Kanjuro said to Jeanne d'Arc, his tone like he was displaying a precious collectible, "I called my loyal knight out specifically just for you to see the 'beauty' in my heart... that which was once the purest, but now understands my endless darkness best?" The word "beauty" in his speech was filled with irony and self-deprecation.
Jeanne d'Arc's voice was cold and flat, without any fluctuation: "The sorrow of the era forged a hero, yet the hero was ultimately spat upon and burned by the people she protected. In the final flames, I truly understood that so-called light and faith are nothing but illusions. The essence of humanity is, in the end, a tendency toward selfishness, ignorance, and darkness. Following you is merely a recognition of this fact."
Reika Kitami watched this supernatural scene. Watching the Holy Maiden, famous in history for her loyalty and faith, now standing like a blackened banner calmly stating a dark "truth," she could only shake her head weakly.
"I know... everyone chooses a different path." Kitami's voice carried a deep weariness. "Kanjuro, you have endless time; you can pursue anything you want. But... playing with people's feelings like this, treating their self-esteem and lives as playthings, is fundamentally wrong!"
"Playing?" Kanjuro acted as if he had heard a massive joke. He spread his hands, his expression innocent yet carrying a malicious playfulness. "Who have I played with? Kitami, you tell me. To this day, any woman who has been 'played' with by me—Yuigahama Yui, Yukinoshita Yukino, even including you... didn't you all eventually choose to be with me? And so devotedly, with unwavering loyalty. Isn't this your own choice?"
"That's because of the curse of the spear of longinus!" Kitami retorted sharply, trying to grasp at the last straw.
"You're wrong, Kitami." Kanjuro shook his head, his eyes full of pity as if mocking her naivety. "It's not entirely like that. The spear of longinus can make a person unwavering in loyalty, but it cannot create feelings out of thin air. It only amplifies and solidifies a tendency that already existed." He took a step forward, staring her down. "I haven't slept with Yoko in a long time. After not seeing me for over ten years, why is it that when she saw me again—I, who once hurt and used her so badly—there was suppressed love in her eyes alongside the fear? The effect of the spear of longinus isn't so durable that it can bridge a ten-year gap."
"Then why do you say it is?!" Kitami was left speechless by his question and could only ask feebly.
The smile on Kanjuro's face vanished completely, replaced by a naked, undisguised contempt and coldness.
"Because they are just cheap." His words were like icicles stabbing into Kitami's heart. "I simply chose the 'point' deep within their character that craves to be conquered, craves to sink, and craves to escape their own mediocre weakness. For cheap people, one should use methods suited for cheap people."
His voice was calm, yet it carried the power to destroy everything: "Sometimes, no matter how much affection you pour into someone, it can't compare to another person simply relying on their own advantages to skillfully guide the 'cheapness' deep in her heart, making her take the initiative to be cheap. Affection?" He sneered as if talking about the most useless trash in the world. "Affection is fundamentally the most useless thing. At least, to my eternal life, it is a valueless burden."
As his voice fell, a deathly silence filled the infirmary.
Reika Kitami completely lost all words. She looked at Kanjuro, at that face that was eternally young and as handsome as a deity yet whose heart had long been swallowed by endless darkness. A chill that went deep into her marrow swept over her.
Jeanne d'Arc stood quietly behind Kanjuro, like the embodiment and witness of his darkest beliefs.
Kanjuro stopped looking at Kitami. He turned and, together with Jeanne d'Arc, slowly merged into the shadows in the corner of the infirmary as if they had never appeared.
Only Kitami remained, standing frozen in the empty room, Kanjuro's declaration—which completely trampled on human dignity—echoing in her ears. Her whole body was cold. For the first time, she realized so clearly that she was facing not just a powerful, immortal individual, but a complete and desperate negation of 'love' and 'humanity' itself.
The next day at school, Yui Yuigahama kept her head down, her mind heavy with worry. When Kanjuro greeted her as usual with that gentle smile enough to make any girl's heart race, she recoiled almost as if she had been electrocuted.
"Yui, what's wrong? Do you want to eat lunch together?" Kanjuro's voice was still warm, as if nothing had happened yesterday.
Yui Yuigahama suddenly looked up, meeting his deep eyes. In an instant, Ms. Kitami's words, the sounds from her mother's room last night, and that terrifying truth exploded in her mind. She looked at Kanjuro's face and for the first time noticed so clearly—the shape of her eyes and the slight upward curve of the corners were so similar to his! And the high bridge of the nose and the contour of the face... she had indeed inherited many bloodline traits from Kanjuro that would be considered perfect by ordinary people. This discovery made her feel a wave of nausea mixed with an indescribable sense of absurdity.
"I hate you!" she shouted almost reflexively with a sob in her voice, repeating her words from yesterday as if that could build a wall to protect herself.
The smile on Kanjuro's face faded, turning into a faint sigh. He tilted his head slightly, his tone carrying the patience of someone giving guidance: "There's always a reason to hate someone, isn't there? Yui, what did I do to make you hate me so much?"
"You know it yourself!" Yui Yuigahama didn't dare say the truth and could only shout with false bravado, her voice trembling.
Kanjuro looked at her quietly for a few seconds. Those eyes that seemed able to see through everything made her feel like she had nowhere to hide. Finally, he said nothing more, just waved his hand dismissively with an aloof tone: "Fine then."
After saying that, he walked straight past her without a hint of lingering.
For the rest of the day, Kanjuro seemed like a completely different person. He no longer took the initiative to speak to Yui Yuigahama. Even when she occasionally plucked up the courage to steal a glance at him, she was met only with a cold profile and an aura of indifference that warned people to stay away. He spent most of his time sitting by the window alone, looking out with empty eyes, thinking about who knows what.
This sudden, total neglect caused a huge sense of loss to inexplicably well up in Yui Yuigahama's heart. She was clearly the one who pushed him away first, and she clearly knew such a terrifying truth and should stay away from him... but when he truly stopped paying attention to her, that hollow sense of disappointment was even harder to bear than her previous anger and fear.
During the break, she was restless and wanted to find Miura Yumiko, whom she could usually talk to, to try and dispel the frustration in her heart.
However, Miura Yumiko only gave her a cold glance, her eyes filled with undisguised jealousy and hostility.
"You think you're worthy of hanging out with me?" Miura Yumiko crossed her arms, her tone biting. "Since you hate Mr. Kanjuro so much, please stay away from me! Just looking at you is annoying!"
Her words were like a command. The few girls who usually surrounded her immediately cast looks of rejection and isolation at Yui Yuigahama. Low-voiced discussions and pointing began to prick at Yui like invisible needles. She instantly fell into a situation where she was being subtly ostracized by all the girls in the class.
Just then, a faint smell of cigarette smoke came from the back of the classroom.
Everyone looked over to see that Kanjuro had, at some point, taken out a cigarette as if no one else were there. He lit it skillfully, held it between his long fingers, took a slow drag, and exhaled a faint smoke ring. He leaned back against his chair with an indifferent expression, as if all the surrounding disputes and Yui Yuigahama's isolation had nothing to do with him; he was just a cold bystander.
The classroom went quiet for a moment. Smoking in school, in the classroom, was absolutely not permitted. However, the eerie thing was that whether it was a passing teacher or a student in the class, not a single person dared to step forward to stop him. Everyone vaguely knew that this transfer student, Kanjuro, had an unfathomable background; even the school's top brass seemed to turn a blind eye to him. That invisible sense of pressure made everyone choose silence and fear.
Amidst this oppressive silence, a gentle yet somewhat helpless voice rang out:
"Uncle Kanjuro... don't smoke in the classroom."
It was Hayama Hayato. He walked over with a slightly troubled smile on his face. He used to go to the Yukinoshita family home to play when he was a child, so he had known Kanjuro for a long time and vaguely knew of Kanjuro's special status as the 'Eternal High School Student'.
Kanjuro raised his eyes and saw Hayama Hayato. The corner of his mouth hooked into a half-smile as he stubbed out the cigarette in a portable ashtray he had brought.
"Hayato," his tone carried the familiarity of an elder yet was mixed with a hint of playfulness, "you should worry about yourself first." He paused, his gaze meaningfully sweeping over the girls in the classroom before landing back on Hayama Hayato, his tone becoming even more mocking:
"By the way, that girl Haruno... is she still ignoring you just like before?"
These words were like a thin needle, precisely piercing Hayama Hayato's long-standing sore spot. His smile froze instantly, and a flash of imperceptible gloom crossed his eyes.
Seeing him get shut down, Kanjuro gave a light laugh and said no more. He turned his gaze back to the window, isolating the undercurrents of the classroom and Yui Yuigahama's helpless and lost expression from his world.
The Service Club activity room was still quiet enough to hear the faint noise from the distant playground outside. Kanjuro returned here as if returning to a familiar nest, sitting in his old spot by the window. Yukinoshita Yukino was already inside, looking down at a book. Her cold profile in the sunlight was like exquisite porcelain, without a single extra expression.
Kanjuro didn't take the initiative to start a conversation as he usually did. He just leaned lazily against the back of his chair and looked out the window. His line of sight precisely crossed the campus scenery and landed on a corner of the distant playground—there, the pink-haired Yui Yuigahama stood all alone, surrounded by several girls with obvious rejection and mockery, pointing at her. She kept her head down, her hands tightly clutching her skirt, her shoulders trembling slightly like a fledgling bird drenched by rain with nowhere to hide.
Despite possessing a cute appearance inherited from him that was enough to attract attention, she had now become an object of avoidance for everyone because of the isolation triggered by a single sentence from Miura Yumiko. The boys in the class might have wanted to help, but under the deterrence of Miura Yumiko's small group—the invisible'school bullies'—they all chose to be silent bystanders.
"Are you concerned?"
A clear, cold voice broke the silence. Yukinoshita Yukino had also turned to look out the window at some point, clearly having witnessed the scene. Her tone was flat, revealing no emotion.
Kanjuro did not withdraw his gaze, but the corner of his mouth curved into an inscrutable smile. His tone was light and detached, carrying a hint of mockery: "It's certainly not good for such a cute girl to be bullied, is it?" He paused, finally turning his head to look at Yukinoshita Yukino, his eyes filled with a trace of testing and playfulness: "Little Yukino, aren't you going to help her? That seems to align perfectly with your principle of 'Justice'."
Yukinoshita Yukino closed her book with a soft sound. She stood up, adjusted her skirt, and cast a sharp glance at Kanjuro, her eyes cold with a trace of imperceptible disgust.
"Even if you hadn't mentioned it," she said coldly, her tone resolute, "I would have done it anyway."
After speaking, she didn't look at Kanjuro again. She pulled open the Club Room door and her figure swiftly disappeared down the corridor toward the playground.
Kanjuro watched her retreating figure, first stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing. The laughter carried a complex meaning: playfulness, interest, and a faint trace of a strange sentiment, one he hadn't even deeply explored himself... similar to a "father's" emotion watching his child grow up.
"The children have all grown up..." he muttered softly, shaking his head, his smile deepening. "They're all starting to rebel, how interesting."
He was indeed somewhat puzzled. According to his knowledge, Yukinoshita Yukino shouldn't know the true blood relationship between them. His long memory still clearly retained the image of the little girl who, as a child, would timidly hide behind him, tug at his sleeve, and sweetly call him "Uncle Kanjuro is the best." Why had she now become so cold and frosty towards him, even subtly hostile?
Is it adolescent rebellion? Or did Yukinoshita Yukino say something to her? Or... did she, using her overly intelligent mind, detect some clues herself?
Kanjuro didn't know, nor did he particularly care. He enjoyed the process of observation more, watching these "daughters" whose fates were intertwined with his, struggling, growing, sinking, or resisting on their respective life paths. To his eternal and boring life, this was a rare seasoning.
His gaze returned to the window, watching Yukinoshita Yukino's slender yet upright figure heading toward the isolated Yui Yuigahama, like a lone knight approaching the weak who needed help.
(Go, Little Yukino.)
(Go practice your Justice, go display your sharpness.)
(Let me see where this 'growth' of yours, detached from my control, will ultimately lead.)
He leisurely shifted his posture, continuing to act as a spectator to this school drama, though deep within his profound eyes, a purely dark interest flickered, anticipating the coming developments.
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