For the first time that night, the silence in the room felt heavy to Sayori.
Kunon had entered the bathroom only a few minutes ago, but the sound of the water echoed muffled behind the thin walls. Sayori sat at her desk, staring blankly at her own notes. However, her mind wasn't on the papers in front of her; it was on the other end of the desk, fixed on that black-covered notebook Kunon had closed in a hurry moments before.
Subject 4 gave up.
I adapted.
The words echoed in her mind with a dangerous rhythm. Sayori swallowed hard. She tried to focus her eyes on her own notebook, but curiosity was eroding the disciplined walls she had built over the years like acid. The rules she had set for herself were clear: No touching personal belongings. But what was written in that notebook didn't look like the diary of an ordinary high school student. Was it a cry for help, or a dark confession?
Sayori rose slowly from her chair. There was only the monotonous sound of water from the bathroom. Her steps slid silently across the floorboards. First, she straightened the pen holder on the desk, telling herself small lies as if she were just tidying up. Then, her gaze drifted to the floor, to the backpack leaning against the side of Kunon's bed. The zipper was halfway open.
She couldn't resist the impulse. Sayori knelt, her hand slowly reaching toward the coarse fabric of the bag. She would just look inside for a second. Just to see if there were any other clues... The moment her fingers touched the cold metal zipper of the bag, the sound of water from the bathroom had already stopped, but Sayori was too deep inside her own mind to notice.
"What do you think you're doing?"
The voice came from right behind her, so close it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
Sayori jumped to her feet, startled. Her breath caught in her throat. Kunon was standing right behind her. Droplets of water were trickling down his face from his hair, and he gripped the towel in his hand tightly. But what truly froze Sayori weren't the water droplets; it was the pure, icy rage in Kunon's eyes. He had never looked this dark before.
"I..." Sayori's voice trembled. For the first time in her life, she couldn't find the words. "I just... the zipper of the bag was open, I was going to fix it."
Kunon took a step toward her. When the distance between them closed dangerously, Sayori instinctively had to step back and lean against the desk.
"How quickly you forget the rules you set yourself," Kunon said. He wasn't shouting, but his tone was so sharp it hit like a slap. "No touching personal belongings. You were the one who said that."
"I wasn't touching it, I just—"
Kunon leaned down quickly and grabbed his bag and the black notebook on the desk in one swift, rough motion. The clenching of his jaw as he pulled his belongings toward his chest betrayed just how angry he was.
"Apparently, you're quite curious," Kunon said, emphasizing every word. His gaze was practically piercing through her. "You're just... as curious as those friends of yours out there. You think violating people's boundaries is a right."
Sayori remained silent. Her defensive mechanism wanted to kick in, to give a sharp retort, but she couldn't. Because she knew; she wasn't right. She was guilty. She had tried to intrude into someone's private space—especially someone whose past was so clearly full of wounds. It was an ugly weakness, unworthy of her character. She bowed her head slightly and pressed her lips together. She didn't say a single word.
Kunon took Sayori's silence as an admission. He shouldered his bag and returned to his bed without a word. When he turned his back and pulled the duvet over himself, the brief ceasefire between them had completely shattered.
When Sayori sat on her own bed, there was a heavy lump in her stomach. She was angry at herself. What she had done wasn't just a mistake; it was a major sign of disrespect. Kunon was new to this school, he didn't feel like he belonged, and instead of giving him confidence, Sayori had tried to go behind his back.
The controlling voice inside her whispered: You must fix what you broke.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She got out of bed and walked toward the small mini-fridge in the corner of the room. She opened the door silently. There they were—the two caramel puddings she had bought for her weekly routine, saved for moments of crisis. She took them both. When she closed the fridge door, the pale moonlight filtering into the room illuminated Kunon's motionless silhouette on the bed.
Sayori approached Kunon's bed with slow steps. She hesitated. She didn't want to anger him further, but she couldn't sleep like this either.
"Kunon," she whispered.
No answer. But Sayori could tell he was awake, even just from his breathing.
"You were right," Sayori said, trying to keep her voice as steady, unmasked, and sincere as possible. "What I did was very disrespectful. If it were my things, I would have reacted the same way. I'm sorry."
Kunon's shoulders moved slightly. He slowly turned onto his back and looked at Sayori through the darkness. His anger hadn't vanished, but that initial searing flame had died down, replaced by a weary defensiveness.
Sayori held out one of the puddings to him. "A peace offering. I don't know if it works but... the taste isn't bad."
Kunon looked at the pudding. Then at Sayori's face. In that silence that lasted for seconds, they both measured each other's guard. Without saying a word, Kunon reached out and took the pudding from Sayori's hand.
This small but heavy gesture instantly pierced and deflated the stifling tension in the room like a needle. A faint, relieved smile appeared on Sayori's lips. She knew that talking more would break the spell. She silently turned around and went to her own bed. When she put her head on the pillow, the tightness in her chest was gone. Shortly after, for the first time that night, she fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning, the room had returned to its usual silent but functional routine. Neither of them mentioned the event of the night before. Bags were packed, uniforms were straightened. Just as Sayori was about to step out the door, she paused with her hand on the knob. After a brief internal reckoning, she turned her head back. Kunon was placing one last note into his bag at his desk.
"Do you want to come with us?" Sayori asked. Her tone was as casual as possible, as if she asked this every morning.
Kunon froze for a moment with the paper in his hand. He looked toward Sayori. A momentary surprise appeared in his eyes, but he immediately rebuilt his analytical wall. His mind quickly calculated the possibilities. Going out and entering this trio's dynamic was exhausting for him, but on the other hand, there was the efficiency of the project to consider.
"It might be efficient for discussing the project," he said, hiding behind the most logical excuse. He put his bag on his back and walked toward Sayori.
When they stepped into the corridor, the morning lethargy hadn't yet dispersed. Until, that is, the chaotic energy came tearing down from the end of the hall.
"Sayoriiii!"
Sakura was practically sliding down the corridor with a half-eaten piece of toast in her hand, running out of breath. One of her socks had slipped down slightly, and her tie was askew. She was just about to throw herself at Sayori's neck when she noticed Kunon standing right beside her, hands in his pockets, looking at her with a flat expression.
Sakura stopped dead as if she had hit an invisible wall. Her sneakers made a sharp braking sound on the floor. Her eyes widened. Within seconds, she straightened her posture, cleared her throat, and quickly hid the toast behind her back.
"Ah... Good morning, Sayori," Sakura said. Her voice was two octaves deeper than usual, and she was speaking like an overly formal announcer. Then she turned her head in slow motion toward Kunon. "And good morning to you... Mr. Kunon. I hope your rest last night was exquisite."
Sayori had to force herself not to hit her forehead with her hand. Kunon, on the other hand, raised one of his eyebrows by a millimeter; he merely settled for a slight nod of the head.
As they began walking toward school, Sakura's energetic body was as tense as if she were marching in a military unit. She swung her arms rhythmically at her sides like a robot, pressing her lips together to avoid saying the wrong thing.
Kunon chose to ignore this strangeness and turned to Sayori. Along the way, he kept his voice low and made short, efficient sentences about the project.
"I will graph the feeding habits of the subjects under stress," Kunon said.
"Good," Sayori said. "And I'll support the psychological framework with literature."
Sakura was struggling to chime in. "Absolutely! And I'll... well... make the graphs colorful. Colors are important. Blue, for example, gives confidence."
Kunon looked at Sakura for a brief moment. "Yes. Blue gives confidence." It was impossible to tell if there was mockery or approval in this flat answer.
As they neared the iron gates of the school, Kyoko was waiting in her usual corner. When she saw the group, her eyes narrowed slightly. The fact that Sayori and Kunon were walking side by side, and without arguing no less, had not escaped her radar. Kunon gave Kyoko only a brief nod.
"I'm heading to class," he said, separating from the crowd and heading toward the building with long strides.
As soon as Kunon's silhouette turned the corner, Sakura let out a deep, suffocating breath. Her shoulders slumped, and her military march ended instantly.
"I died... I really died," Sakura moaned. "Was I very weird? Please tell me it wasn't weird, Sayori. I looked noble, didn't I?"
Sayori smiled faintly. She thought for a split second about whether to tell Sakura about the tense moments she had experienced last night, the bag incident, and the notebook. But no, this secret belonged only to Kunon and her. At least for now.
"You weren't noble, Sakura," Sayori said. "You were more like a countess trying to have tea with the queen but spilling the tea all over herself."
Kyoko smiled sarcastically. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned toward Sakura. "I think you're worrying for nothing, Sakura. Kunon is definitely in love with you."
Sakura's face instantly turned the color of a tomato. "What?! Don't be ridiculous! That block of ice? With me?"
"Of course," Kyoko continued, without breaking the flat and serious tone in her voice. "It's impossible that he wasn't smitten by that move where you hid the toast. The man literally couldn't take his eyes off you."
Sakura covered her face with her hands. "Kyoko, please stop! I've already embarrassed myself enough."
As Sayori listened silently to this bickering between her two friends, she felt a warmth in her chest. Unable to resist Sakura's exaggerated reactions and Kyoko's biting jokes, a small, genuine laugh escaped her lips for the first time in a long while. This laugh mingled with the cool morning air and left a comforting feeling.
But as she walked toward class with her friends, there was still one single thought hanging behind Sayori's smile.
Subject 4 gave up. I adapted.
Kunon was trying to adapt to the school, yes. But Sayori was beginning to feel deep down that the real test was adapting to the real Kunon behind those walls. And this game was only just beginning.