Next, it was the girls’ turn.
When Kamuro Masumi’s name was called, she walked toward the starting block.
She stepped up, bent down, and gripped the edge with both hands, settling into the ready position.
From Kaedehara Tetsu’s vantage point, he could clearly trace the tense lines of her back.
Her hands trembled slightly against the wet fiberglass, betraying the sheer exertion she was already putting her muscles through.
Her eyes had changed.
Her gaze locked onto the finish line at the far end of the pool with a lethal intensity, staring through the water as if her mortal enemy stood waiting on the tiles.
“Ready—”
The sharp blast of the whistle tore through the humid air.
Kamuro’s body launched into the water like a ballistic projectile, carrying a terrifying, explosive momentum that eclipsed many of the boys in the previous heats.
The moment she broke the surface, she held absolutely nothing back.
It was a frantic, desperate sprint from the very first second.
Her arms churned the water like tireless, over-revved motors, stroking at an astonishing, punishing frequency.
There was no aesthetic grace to her form, no elegant technique to admire.
It was purely violent.
She wasn’t swimming; she was venting.
The other girls in her lane were rapidly left in her wake, choking on her backwash.
They could only watch in astonishment as the dark-haired girl charged forward like a madwoman.
Tetsu watched her quiet, chaotic display from the sidelines.
He understood perfectly.
He could read the raw, unfiltered anger loaded into every single stroke.
He could easily picture the scene playing out in her mind—her hands wrapped around Yamauchi Haruki’s throat, pressing his disgusting, pathetic face deep beneath the chlorinated water, watching him thrash, watching him suffocate.
‘Terrifying,’Tetsu mused, a faint, dry smile touching his lips.’But highly effective.’
A heavy, dull thud echoed across the indoor facility as Kamuro’s palm slammed violently against the concrete wall.
Fifty meters, finished.
She had won with an overwhelming, crushing lead.
Yet, as she broke the surface, gasping for air, there was not a single trace of victory on her face.
She completely ignored the physical education teacher’s praise and the bewildered stares of her Class A peers.
Relying on the last dregs of her stamina, she braced her arms against the gutter and hauled herself onto the slick tiles.
Her legs gave out for a fraction of a second, causing her to stumble, but she caught her balance.
Snatching her towel, she wrapped the cotton tightly around her shivering shoulders and walked straight toward the locker room without uttering a single syllable.
By the following day, a toxic atmosphere had begun to ferment within the pristine walls of Class A.
It started small—a few girls huddled together between periods, shooting covert, sidelong glances at Kamuro’s desk, whispering behind cupped hands.
Like a highly contagious virus, the gossip mutated and spread across the room.
“Did you hear?
About Kamuro-san…”
“Are you serious?
Shoplifting?”
“There’s a video going around.
Some guys from Class D leaked it to the group chats.
Half the year already knows…”
“No way. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
She really doesn’t look the type…”
“You can’t read a person’s character just by looking at their face.
This school is full of hidden scumbags…”
Sitting near the back, Tetsu rested his chin against his knuckles, casually trading small talk with Hashimoto Masayoshi while watching the clouds drift past the window.
Despite his relaxed posture, his ears caught every fragmented syllable of the spreading poison.
A few rows away, Kamuro sat entirely motionless.
She stared straight ahead, but her right hand gripped a mechanical pen so fiercely that her knuckles had turned completely white, betraying the storm raging beneath her stoic mask.
The tension did not remain contained within their homeroom.
During the lunch break, the heavy sliding door rattled open.
Mashima Tomoya stepped into the classroom, his usual stern expression looking even more severe than normal.
“Kamuro Masumi.
Come with me.”
The ambient chatter of the classroom died instantly.
A suffocating, dead silence rushed in to fill the void.
Every student froze, turning their heads in unison to stare at the accused girl.
Kamuro stood up slowly.
Her face was a blank slate.
Without looking at anyone, she followed her homeroom teacher out into the corridor.
The atmosphere inside the Student Council office was heavy and oppressive.
Horikita Manabu sat at the center of the long table, radiating a cold, untouchable authority.
Beside him sat the secretary, Tachibana Akane, her pen poised over a notepad.
Standing before them was Yamauchi Haruki, currently in the middle of an exaggerated, theatrical performance.
He waved his arms, loudly detailing how he had “accidentally” stumbled upon the Class A student’s thievery.
He puffed out his chest, righteously declaring that to protect the academy’s prestigious reputation, he had no choice but to step forward and expose this vile corruption of the school spirit.
Finishing his grand speech, Yamauchi triumphantly whipped out his smartphone, loaded the video file, and slid it across the polished wood to Tachibana.
She picked it up, watched the brief clip once, verified its contents, and silently passed the device to the Student Council President.
On the small screen, the footage was damning.
Kamuro’s furtive movements—glancing around before smoothly sliding a tube of lipstick into her uniform pocket—were captured in high definition.
The evidence seemed absolute.
Manabu watched the playback with a completely blank expression, as if the scandalous footage bored him.
Yet, as the video looped, his sharp eyes narrowed by a fraction of a millimeter at certain timestamps, zeroing in on specific, hidden details.
He didn’t speak.
He simply watched the clip a second time, and then a third, the silence in the room stretching until it felt brittle enough to snap.
Finally, Manabu tore his gaze away from the glowing screen.
He looked up, locking eyes with Kamuro, who had been standing to the side in total silence.
“Kamuro-san.
Do you have any explanation for the contents of this video?”
Her voice, when it finally came, was quiet, flat, and laced with absolute steel.
She stared directly into Manabu’s imposing gaze, refusing to flinch.
“I did not steal anything.”
“But the video…” Tachibana blurted out, her brow furrowing in deep confusion.
“The video proves nothing,” Kamuro cut her off, her tone dropping to freezing temperatures.
She didn’t care to beg.
In a situation this engineered, any defense she mounted would just sound like the desperate lies of a cornered thief.
She knew exactly where she stood: right on the edge of a sheer cliff, with nowhere left to step.
Seeing her refuse to grovel, Yamauchi’s ugly smirk widened.
“President, look at her!
She’s so guilty she can’t even string a sentence together!
Caught red-handed, what else is there to say?
I strongly suggest you enact strict disciplinary action immediately!”
Manabu ignored the outburst.
He raised a hand, tapping his index finger gently against the mahogany table.
The rhythmic sound commanded total obedience.
“There are several suspicious elements regarding this matter,” Manabu stated, his voice measured and authoritative.
“A video of unknown origin is insufficient to draw an immediate, binding conclusion.
The Student Council will conduct a thorough investigation.
Until those results are finalized, I forbid any further spread of these rumors.
You are both dismissed.”
Yamauchi’s jaw dropped.
He had fully expected to watch a Class A elite get crushed right in front of him.
He opened his mouth to argue, but the moment his eyes met the absolute, freezing glare of Horikita Manabu, the words died in his throat.
Cowled in sudden fear, Yamauchi snapped his mouth shut and scurried out the door.
After leaving the suffocating confines of the Student Council office, Kamuro did not return to Class A.
It felt as though someone had pulled a plug at the base of her spine, draining away every ounce of her physical and mental strength.
She wandered aimlessly across the sprawling campus.
She didn’t know where she was supposed to go.
She didn’t know where she could go.
Even in the empty corridors, the phantom weight of a hundred staring eyes pressed down on her shoulders, pointing fingers, whispering her name.
Eventually, her wandering feet dragged her toward the secluded, heavily wooded grove situated directly behind the main school building.
Reaching the center of the trees, her legs finally gave out.
She leaned heavily against the rough bark of a massive oak, her back sliding slowly down the trunk until she hit the dirt.
She pulled her knees tight against her chest and buried her face in her arms.
A violent tremor wracked her frame, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
Pure, unadulterated anger.
Crushing helplessness.
Suffocating fear.
The dark, negative emotions crashed over her in a tidal wave, dragging her under.
She refused to cry.
Instead, she clamped her teeth down on her lower lip, biting down with so much force that the metallic, bitter taste of fresh blood slowly bloomed across her tongue.
[Inorin’s Note:
Hey guys, hope you’re enjoying the novel!
Hate waiting for updates and cliffhangers?