Chapter XXVI - Something Worth Breaking For (III)

The day stretched before me like a desert without horizon. Each class blurred into the next. Mathematics with Takeda-sensei's overly precise diagrams, Classical Literature with its endless analysis of the Tale of Genji, Modern History with its droning catalog of postwar economic developments.

Through it all, the Cultural Festival loomed like a gathering storm, a deadline I could neither meet nor escape.

Between second and third period, Yoshida-san cornered me in the hallway with a clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield.

"Kagami-kun, the third-floor decorations committee needs a revised budget allocation for Class 2-A's contribution. And the schedule for setup needs your approval. And the equipment rental form is incomplete—you didn't specify the number of tables for the maid café."

I nodded mechanically and promptly accepted yet another stack of forms. My bag was becoming a repository of unfulfilled obligations, feeling like each sheet of paper was a dissertation on my inadequacy as a class rep.

"I'll have them done by tomorrow," I promised, knowing even as I spoke that it was probably a lie.

"Today would be preferable. The committee heads are meeting at four."

"Today..." I echoed, mentally calculating how I could squeeze budget calculations between classes. Perhaps during lunch, assuming Midou didn't choose to continue our earlier conversation and actually make due on his threat.

I'd just settled into my seat for third period when a shadow darkened the doorway. Gojo-sensei, mid-prose reading, faltered as we all turned to look.

Arisato Seijuro stood in the entrance, his posture a perfect vertical line, his uniform immaculate as always. The student council president's pin gleamed on his lapel like a warning sign.

"Pardon the interruption, Gojo-sensei, I need to borrow Kagami-kun for council business."

Gojo-sensei's mouth tightened. "We're in the middle of a lesson, Arisato-kun."

"I understand, sensei. However, this concerns the Cultural Festival preparations. Tanaka-sensei has authorized the interruption."

His most common tactic. Tanaka-sensei, our vice principal, would sign whatever Arisato put in front of him—a fact the student council president exploited relentlessly.

Gojo-sensei sighed, gesturing to me with his chalk.

"Make it quick, Kagami-kun."

I gathered my things under the collective gaze of Class 2-A, painfully aware of how this looked: the class representative once again shirking his academic responsibilities for administrative ones. From the corner of my eye, I caught Takahashi's smug expression.

For him, this was another opportunity to demonstrate that he would make a far more dedicated representative.

If he wasn't Mio-san's younger brother, I would have been more irritated at him.

Arisato turned without waiting, assuming I would follow. And I did, because that's what I always did. Kagami Shouma followed orders, followed expectations, and followed everyone's lead but his own.

The hallway felt unnaturally quiet after the muted buzz of the classroom. Arisato's shoes clicked against the polished floor like a metronome, sound seeming to count down to an execution I couldn't avoid. He led me to the student council room; it always struck me as unnecessarily formal for a high school organization.

The council chamber had once been a classroom, but through some "mysterious" budgetary reallocation, it had been transformed into something corresponding to a corporate meeting room. A long table dominated the center, surrounded by chairs that looked more expensive than anything in the teachers' lounge. The walls bore framed photographs of past council presidents and awards the school had accumulated over decades. Heavy curtains covered the windows, filtering the natural light into a soft, diffuse glow and creating an atmosphere of perpetual late afternoon.

Arisato sat at the head of the table, gesturing for me to take a chair some distance away—close enough to hear him without raising his voice, but far enough to underscore the gulf in our positions.

"The Cultural Festival," he began without preamble, "is in less than two weeks. Class 2-A's submissions are incomplete, and the forms you did submit contain numerous inconsistencies." He slid a folder across the table, flipped open to reveal my hastily completed paperwork covered in red annotations.

I stared at the marked pages, trying to focus on the specifics. Budget miscalculations. Scheduling conflicts. Insufficient safety protocols for food preparation.

"I apologize for the errors. I'll correct them immediately."

"This is becoming a pattern, Kagami-kun." Arisato's voice remained level, but there was an edge to it that cut like glass. "Your performance as class representative has been deteriorating. First, the missed deadlines, then the incomplete forms, now these careless mistakes."

I couldn't deny it. Even by my own standards, I'd been failing spectacularly. The thought of Sairenji returning to this mess made my stomach twist shamefully.

"It won't happen again," I promised, another empty pledge to add to my growing collection.

He leaned forward slightly, glasses catching the light in a way that obscured his eyes.

"Your words are becoming as unreliable as your work. I'm beginning to wonder whether your attachment to that ridiculous club is affecting your responsibilities."

My hand constricted around the folder's edge.

"The Four Symbols Club is irrelevant to my duties as class representative." The lie came out more easily than I'd expected. Maybe because, in a way, it felt true. I couldn't remember the last time I'd even thought about the club since that fight with Akise.

"Is it? Then perhaps you can explain why, instead of completing these forms properly, you've been spending time attempting to resurrect what amounts to a childish fantasy? I've been told you've been seen in the old music room again. With Nanahara-kun. After I explicitly indicated that the space was to be reassigned."

So a liar within the Student Council body, how quaint.

Well, given how quickly I was losing his trust, there was no worth in correcting it.

"The deadline for proving the club's viability hasn't passed," I noted, the words tasting bitter. "We're still within the grace period you granted."

"Grace period." He almost smiled. "An apt choice of words. Though I must say, your efforts seem particularly quixotic. Have you managed to recruit anyone beyond your strange friend? Any actual members with legitimate interests?"

No, we hadn't recruited anyone. No, we had no established activities or plans. No, we had nothing to show for our supposed revival efforts except Akise's increasingly desperate enthusiasm and my own fading resolve.

He knew all of this, and just wanted to drive the stake through the club's heart while he was at it.

"We're making progress," I lied.

"Are you? Because from my perspective, it seems you're simply delaying the inevitable. It would be far more efficient—for everyone—if you were to accept reality and allow the space to be repurposed now. Think of the storage committee's needs and of the festival preparations that could be facilitated if that room were properly utilized."

"The club still has time—"

"The club," he interrupted, "is a degenerate fantasy. It's a childhood game that has persisted far beyond its natural lifespan. It's the ideology of shut-ins, Kagami-kun, and it has no place in a serious educational environment like Amane."

My thoughts drifted to Midou and his thinly veiled threats, to the gauze on my face poorly concealing my father's handiwork, to the hollow feeling that had taken up permanent residence in my chest.

"Kagami-kun."

I blinked, realizing I'd lost the thread of the conversation.

Arisato's hand slammed against the table with sudden violence, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet room. I flinched involuntarily, a reflexive response to unexpected aggression that I'd developed long before high school.

"I expect your complete attention when I'm speaking to you. Your distraction is both disrespectful and unbecoming of an Amane student."

"I apologize, Arisato-senpai. I didn't mean—"

He waved away my words.

"Your apologies are as meaningless as your promises. This isn't a joke, nor is this something you can drift through. There are consequences to failure, Kagami-kun. Real ones."

I stared at him, momentarily seeing past the perfect student, the impeccable administrator, to something harder and more desperate beneath—a glimpse of recognition that vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"I understand," I said and slightly sighed, though I wasn't entirely sure what I was agreeing to.

"Do you?" He straightened, reclaiming his usual composure. "Sometimes I wonder. Perhaps you need a more concrete illustration of what's at stake."

He opened a drawer and withdrew another folder—this one bearing the insignia of the guidance department.

"I've been reviewing your academic record. Your grades have been... middling recently. They're still in the upper 20% of your year, which is commendable, but it's nowhere near your performance last year where you were constantly rivaling Sairenji-kun's scores. Combined with your administrative shortcomings and your persistent attachment to a defunct club, it paints a concerning picture for university applications."

He tapped the folder meaningfully.

"Especially for someone in your... financial situation."

My eyes narrowed sharply.

Without scholarships, without recommendation letters, without the full support of Amane's administration, my chances of university admission were virtually nonexistent. My father's finances—what remained of them—would never stretch to cover tuition. My part-time work barely covered our living expenses.

Arisato was threatening my only escape route.

"I believe we understand each other now," he said, interpreting my silence as submission. "The corrected forms by the end of the day. The full proposal for Class 2-A's contribution by Friday. And as for the Four Symbols Club..."

He let a pregnant pause occur, letting his words dangle like a sword above my head.

"Perhaps it would be kinder to end things quickly? Before Nanahara-kun invests even more of his enthusiasm in a lost cause?"

Something shifted inside me then, a tectonic movement so subtle yet profound that I almost didn't recognize it for what it was.

Rage.

Pure, unfiltered, ire.

Apathy's intoxication wasn't enough to satiate me anymore.

I, simply, wanted to see him suffer.

Was that enough of an excuse for my actions?

Was I simply a bad person?

Was it just in my nature to be cruel?

I didn't know.

I wasn't sure I cared.

By what right could he decide what mattered? By what right was he to determine which dreams deserved to live and which should die? By what right was he to sit in judgment over friendships and passions he couldn't possibly conceive?

I'd abandoned Akise before and betrayed our friendship for the sake of convenience and cooperation. I'd surrendered the club to Arisato's administrative authority without a fight. I'd done what was expected, what was easiest, what would cause the least disruption.

And what had it gotten me?

A face swollen from my father's fist. A former best friend who couldn't bear to look at me. A reputation as nothing more than a semi-useful tool.

My rage turned into an earth-splitting sword.

"I'll have the forms completed today. The festival proposal by Friday."

I stood and gathered the folder.

"But the Four Symbols Club stays."

Arisato regarded me with a stare that was equal parts surprise and derision.

"We'll see," he said simply.

I slammed the door shut.