"Alright, that's all for today. Students with club activities, don't stay too late. Everyone heading home, stay safe and try not to linger outside. Class dismissed."
"Goodbye, Sensei!"
School was out.
Amamiya Momiji gathered her materials in a perfectly ordinary manner and left the classroom.
The class instantly surged back to life. It reminded Oreki Gen of the rehydration scene from "The Three-Body Problem" — was this not more lifelike than any revival?
Just moments ago, every last one of them had been the walking dead.
But Oreki Gen couldn't afford to admire the spectacle for long. The moment Amamiya Momiji left the classroom, he grabbed his bag.
A new world record for the men's hundred-meter dash—!
Challenging the limits of human potential: 9.58—!
Oreki-kun, RUN!
That was right — legs, don't fail me now. Not a single opening for Sakuraba Mitsuki.
Getting diced into ninety-nine pieces was a volunteer gig — whoever wanted it could have it. He sure as hell didn't.
"Huh? Oreki, you—"
Matsuyama Shota tried to hold back the young man who'd become the wind. Didn't stand a chance.
Grab the bag, rise, beeline for the classroom door — Oreki Gen's movements were fluid and seamless, rivaling a Kamen Rider's henshin sequence.
But unfortunately —
"What... why is she here?"
A crowd had bottlenecked at the door, sending a ripple of commotion through the room.
Situation's bad. Fall back.
But there was nowhere to retreat. This was the fourth floor. To leave the classroom, he'd have to jump out the window... which, honestly, was still better than being sliced into ninety-nine pieces.
But Oreki Gen stopped. The doorway was clearly impassable. The buzz of voices continued to swell.
Because the students who'd gathered at the exit, ready to leave, had unexpectedly come face to face with a singular, impossible-to-ignore figure.
A black-haired girl with a bag slung over her shoulder, elegant and poised, yet exuding a cold detachment from the world around her — standing right at the entrance of this classroom.
"Isn't that Sakuraba-san...?"
"What's she doing here?"
"Who's she looking for?"
"I don't think anyone in our class is friends with her? Wait — does she even have friends?"
Under everyone's gaze, a flicker of impatience crossed Sakuraba Mitsuki's refined features.
"Would you mind... stepping aside?"
The people at the front faltered. Whether it was the aura this girl naturally commanded or the general inclination to comply with a beautiful girl's request, the crowd parted. One overly hopeful boy ventured a question.
"Sakuraba-san... who in our class are you looking for?"
CLICK.
CLICK.
CLICK.
Sakuraba Mitsuki didn't answer them. She walked into the classroom and stopped, her gaze locked unwaveringly on the handsome boy standing there with his bag on his back.
"Oreki-kun. Can we talk?"
"..."
"Oh, she's here for Oreki Gen... And here I was getting all worked up."
"Die! Why is it always a prince and princess in these stories?!"
"Duh, us girls just like handsome guys!"
"You people can't see the beauty of someone's soul. So lame."
"When your looks don't cut it, suddenly you think your soul is beautiful? You're the lame ones!"
None of this chatter reached Oreki Gen anymore. All he knew was that he'd been one step too slow. Compared to his preparations, hers had been far more thorough.
What he was thinking about now, with Sakuraba Mitsuki staring at him — and her invitation hanging in the air —
This unique, one-of-a-kind beauty... this heiress...
How should he answer?
WHOOSH—
Somewhere overhead, a hawk spread its wings across the sky, startling a flock of timid sparrows.
Oreki Gen was calm. Even with the girl in front of him possessing the very real capability of slicing him into ninety-nine pieces.
The setting wasn't the classroom, but the edge of the school's athletic field.
They sat side by side, not too far apart — looking for all the world like a couple in the early, fluttering stages of romance.
"Is there something you needed, Sakuraba-san?"
Oreki Gen spoke first, since she hadn't. He understood that endless evasion was pointless. The priority was handling the situation in front of him with a clear head. Sure, she could stop time, and yes, in the doujin she'd carved him into ninety-nine pieces — but the good news was there was still a chance to change things. This was his first formal interaction with Sakuraba Mitsuki.
Sakuraba Mitsuki turned to face him.
"Oreki... Gen, right?"
She seemed to be confirming his name. Quite the performance — as if she didn't already know.
But since this was technically their "first meeting," Oreki Gen couldn't call her bluff. He nodded. "That's right."
Sakuraba Mitsuki's cool, expressionless face dipped in acknowledgment. Then she said, "There's something that's been puzzling me, so I came to find you."
"What is it?" Puzzled? Go search it on Googu.
Sakuraba Mitsuki produced her phone and began swiping as she spoke, her face betraying nothing.
"First — we can confirm that we've never interacted before, correct?"
Preferably never. You truly have zero conscience.
Oreki Gen replied evenly, "Correct. I don't think we've even spoken a single word to each other."
"Then please explain this photo."
Sakuraba Mitsuki held up her phone screen toward him. On it was a photo — a photo of Oreki Gen.
Standing in place, his gaze deep and distant, seemingly focused on something far away — certainly not the camera. And yet his entire figure was squarely centered in the frame.
Oreki Gen remembered perfectly well that this was the photo Sakuraba Mitsuki had taken the first time she'd used her time stop on him. But he couldn't reveal that he'd been conscious.
"That's... me. Why do you have a photo like this of me?"
Sakuraba Mitsuki turned to face him fully, her expression blank — possibly even carrying a hint of scrutiny.
"That's what I'm asking you. Why is your photo on my phone?"
"But this is your phone, isn't it? It's not like someone emailed it to you? And I don't recall this photo appearing on any of my social media."
"Correct. But this photo is clearly taken at close range, aimed directly at you. If I took it, would you have any memory of that?"
A sharp counter-question. They were dancing around something both of them knew full well, yet Oreki Gen couldn't figure out her angle. Why was she engineering contact this way?
So the protagonist didn't even get to enjoy normal interactions? Was that it?
Oreki Gen shook his head. "I have no memory of it. But I don't recall anyone ever taking a photo of me like this. If they had, I'd definitely remember. I can't explain how this happened."
The moment he finished, Oreki Gen noticed something — the seemingly expressionless Sakuraba Mitsuki's eyes flickered briefly. She raised her head to look at him.
"You can't explain it?"
Oreki Gen feigned deliberation. "Maybe someone used your phone to take it? But I really don't have any recollection."
Sakuraba Mitsuki stood up and repositioned herself, standing directly in front of Oreki Gen on the step below him, putting them at eye level.
Her posture was poised, but her presence was overwhelming.
Noble. Elegant. Like a black swan.
"If it were just this one photo, it honestly wouldn't be enough to make me seek you out. But..."
Biden fist-clench meme. The big one was coming.
Oreki Gen slowly raised his head, and sure enough — Sakuraba Mitsuki aimed her phone at him and swiped to the next photo.
Just as expected, Oreki Gen still found it deeply uncomfortable to see himself in a photo like that...
Even having anticipated it, even knowing about it — actually seeing it was still jarring, alright?!
Why had she even taken it? And good lord, it had some kind of beauty filter on it — everything looked all smooth and rosy...
At least the dimensions were true to life.
"This is..."
Oreki Gen feigned shock.
Then he saw Sakuraba Mitsuki's narrowed eyes — imperious, radiating authority without even trying.
But now Oreki Gen knew the truth. This was all an act.
"I don't have any interest in taking photos of... this nature. And this image comes right after the previous one. This... also belongs to you, does it not?"
Oreki Gen denied it as a matter of course — even though he knew it was indeed his, and that she had personally taken it. And she'd even flicked the damn thing twice today!
"There's no way! How could I possibly use your phone to take such a private photo? I'm not some kind of pervert — and even if I were, I'd have no motive or opportunity!"
Sakuraba Mitsuki's gaze sharpened as she studied him.
"Is it possible you're lying? That at some point I don't know about, you took my phone and captured these photos?"
"But I didn't."
Sakuraba Mitsuki's aura intensified as she closed the distance another fraction. No longer a princess of mere beauty and nobility — she was a queen wielding sovereign authority.
"Really? But perverts always claim innocence when they're caught. Why would anyone believe them? And these photos are the best evidence. If I showed them to the police — first your face, then this — what do you think they'd conclude?"
A dangerous gleam flashed in Sakuraba Mitsuki's eyes.
Oreki Gen met her gaze.
"Are you saying you'd go to the police over something I didn't even do, Sakuraba-san?"
Sakuraba Mitsuki leaned even closer, her voice dropping. That beautiful face was now brimming with danger and cunning.
"If you'd rather that didn't happen... there is another way to resolve this. Perhaps I don't need to involve the authorities."
So this was the play all along.
Oreki Gen sighed quietly to himself. Something had suddenly become clear.
This was why, in mainstream fiction, stories about rebirth always emphasized that history couldn't be changed — that everything would replay itself in strange, convoluted ways, inevitably returning to the same track.
Because they operated on so-called "causality." It was also the thing most audiences despised.
Oreki Gen didn't entirely believe his transmigration was bound by strict cause and effect.
But there was definitely some degree of "course correction" at play.
Perhaps it was precisely because he'd spent this past week avoiding the original heroines that the world had manufactured these supernatural abilities on them — forcing contact, pushing events back toward the original plot, ensuring these encounters happened no matter what.
Which told Oreki Gen one thing:
No matter how hard he tried to coast, the contact that was meant to happen would happen.
Oreki Gen was a profoundly calm person. Having been orphaned at a young age in his previous life, he'd learned early on that relying on yourself beat relying on others.
And now, seeing this situation unfold — Sakuraba Mitsuki gazing at him with the look of a schemer whose plot had just succeeded — something clicked into place.
It was time to change his approach.
He couldn't remain passive. If he did, the doujin's final plotlines might genuinely spiral beyond his control.
He needed to seize hold of his own fate.
No more running. He would change everything with his own hands.