I reflected on the remains of that exhausting day as I trudged toward the school gate. The Nagoya sky began to turn a deep shade of orange, as if the universe were mocking my fate—having just been "sentenced" to an isolation room with a beautiful girl whose tongue was sharper than a razor blade.
"Rehabilitation, huh? What am I, a repeat offender?" I muttered, kicking a small pebble across the asphalt.
The next day, I hoped the world would end—or at least that Meiwa High would have a sudden emergency closure due to a giant monster attack. But reality is always as rigid as Mr. Hideaki's steel ruler. Once again, I found myself standing in front of that nameless sliding door.
As soon as it opened, the same scene greeted me. Kurokawa Reina, sitting gracefully with a classic literary novel in hand, radiating a powerful "don't-come-near-me-unless-you-want-to-die" aura.
"You're three minutes late, Nakamura-san," she said without glancing up from her page.
"Oh, really? I prefer to call it 'giving the air some breathing room so it doesn't get contaminated by my presence,'" I shot back randomly while pulling a chair into the furthest corner.
Kurokawa closed her book—thwack—the sound echoed through the silent room. She stared at me with eyes that were clear yet cold.
"Even when it comes to discipline, you look for excuses. It seems the Student Council President wasn't wrong about you. You've truly reached a state of perfect decay."
The atmosphere in the Special Service Division room that afternoon was quiet—too quiet, to the point where the ticking of the wall clock sounded like a hammer hitting a nail.
A week had passed since Hasegawa dragged me into this cursed room. And during that entire week, the number of clients who had come here was zero. Absolutely nil.
I looked up from the paperback I was reading, glancing over at the girl sitting across the room. Kurokawa Reina was turning the pages of her book with such grace, as if she were in a private library rather than a club that's supposed to "help others."
"Kurokawa," I called out softly.
She didn't look up. "Is there something important, Nakamura-san? Other than the fact that your breathing is contaminating the oxygen in this room?"
"As cruel as ever, I see," I muttered. "I was just thinking. What's actually the point of this place? We sit here for hours every day, but not a single person has knocked on the door. If there are no requests, isn't this just a really awkward self-study session?"
Kurokawa finally closed her book, her sharp eyes fixing me with a cold stare. "Service is provided to those in need. If no one comes, it means this school is at peace. You should be grateful, instead of whining like a lost insect."
I let out a long sigh. The problem wasn't just the lack of work; it was the atmosphere. This room is small. It's just me, her, and piles of old documents. Every time I shift my feet or flip a page, I feel like she's judging me in silence.
The awkwardness was starting to crawl up the back of my neck.
"But still," I continued, trying to break the suffocating silence. "Being here alone with you with nothing to do... it feels like a slow death sentence."
Kurokawa let out a thin smile that was anything but friendly. "Oh, I see. So you feel pressured being alone with a beautiful girl? How pathetic. Don't worry, Nakamura-san. To me, your presence here is nothing more than a wall decoration that smells slightly of germs. I almost forgot you even had the ability to speak."
"Germs, huh? At least germs have a role in the ecosystem," I shot back sarcastically.
"True, and your role is to be quiet and stay out of my sight," she replied instantly, without losing her cool for a second.
I went back to staring at the ceiling. If this is a service organization, there should be some marketing or something. But Kurokawa is too proud to look for customers, and I'm too lazy to care.
Problem 1: No requests = This division is non-functional.
Problem 2: Interpersonal tension between an "Acute Loner" and the "Ice Queen."
Problem 3: I'd rather go home and watch anime than get insulted on a regular basis.
"You know," I said again, "if we keep this up, the faculty board will shut this place down for being unproductive."
Kurokawa paused for a moment. She rested her chin on her fingers, looking thoughtful. "For once, you might actually be saying something sensible. Even so, I will not stoop so low as to beg people to bring their problems here."
"Of course not. That's very 'you'," I said, closing my book.
Silence took over once again. I could feel her gaze shifting toward me every now and then, only for her to look back at her book whenever I turned my head. This awkwardness was starting to morph into something weirder—a sort of cold war where neither of us wanted to admit that we were actually feeling uncomfortable.
The air in the room felt static, as if time refused to flow in a place inhabited by two people who had withdrawn from the world. I, Nakamura Izumi, was busy staring at a stain on the ceiling that looked like a crying face, while across from me, Kurokawa Reina read her book with a calm that was almost inhuman.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. It wasn't the energetic, loud knock typical of Hasegawa Riika—the kind that usually ends with the door being slammed open—but rather a hesitant, formal knock. Before I could say a word, a pale blue envelope with the official Student Council seal was slid through the gap under the door.
Kurokawa stood up. Her movements were graceful, efficient, and flawless—a natural choreography that reminded me of how she used to be in the middle school hallways. She was always like that; a center of gravity that made people around her feel the need to fix their posture—a figure admired from afar but feared if you got too close.
"Our first task," she said curtly. The sound of paper tearing was sharp in the silence of the room. She read it for a moment, and instantly, her perfect eyebrows knitted together. There was a flash of annoyance in her eyes. "This is disgusting."
"What is it? Cleaning the smelly rabbit cages? Or maybe sorting through piles of plastic waste in the sports shed?" I asked with a forced, lazy tone. Honestly, I'd much rather deal with physical trash than human emotional garbage.
"Worse. It's a personal request from the Student Council President," she said, tossing a piece of paper in front of me. It landed silently on the dull wooden desk. "An investigation into 'Anonymous Threat Letters' received by the drama club. They say someone is trying to sabotage their rehearsals by sending messages that are... inappropriate."
I scanned the lines on the paper. The words were sharp, filled with language designed to crush someone's spirit. 'You don't belong there,' 'Get lost before this stage swallows you whole.'
"Then why didn't they just report it to the teachers? Why go through this ridiculous 'gray' division?" I asked, feeling a bad premonition crawl up the back of my neck.
"Because the President wants to protect the school's image," Kurokawa answered while smoothing a strand of hair that was already perfectly in place. "Meiwa is a prestigious school. If a bullying scandal leaks to the public, especially with the cultural festival coming up, our reputation could tank. They want this settled internally. Quiet and clean."
Kurokawa looked at me. Her gaze wasn't just cold anymore; it was piercing—as if she were dissecting the layers of my trauma.
"And that's where you come in, Nakamura-san. As someone who's used to living in the shadows—someone who spent their middle school years as an easy target for bullying—you must have the instinct to find the culprit, right? You know how a cornered person thinks."
I felt a sharp pang in my chest. "Oi, don't bring up past traumas for the sake of work. That's low, even for you."
"I'm just stating facts," she shot back without a hint of regret.
"Fine... I get the pattern," I sighed, giving in to the reality that she was right. "Usually, the culprit isn't some purely evil outsider. It's someone who smiles at you every day. Someone who's jealous because you have something they don't think you deserve. The purest form of malice is born from proximity."