Yahari Ore no Seishun Love Come wa Machigatte Iru - Volume 6.5 - Chapter 6

6

But even so, Meguri Shiromeguri is watching.

Class started in first period, and I gently turned my neck around as if I was trying to get the stiffness out of my shoulders. I caught sight of Sagami out of the corner of my eye, stealing a glance for just an instant. She was slouched over, her downcast gaze not even twitching.

How had the skirmish in the hallway that morning affected Minami Sagami? I wanted to find out.

Thus far, the conflict had been confined to the Sports Festival Committee, but with the incident that morning, it had spread to her day-to-day business as well. It had encroached into her real life, so to speak. Until this point, she would have been able to pretend she’d forgotten it all once the event itself was over, but now a clear, lingering discomfort remained.

It seemed that fact was slowly sinking in. Her usual, vaguely irritating “poor me” act quieted down, and I could tell she was in low spirits just by glancing over.

It wasn’t funny to me, but I didn’t feel sorry for her, either.

I don’t have many opinions about Minami Sagami in the first place. Though she has annoyed the hell out of me, it’s never been more than that. This is partly because we never had much of a connection to begin with, but also because I doubt we’ll have anything to do with each other moving forward.

However, if I were to consider the matter from a purely objective standpoint, then I could offer an extremely brief—a very simple—impression of her.

In short, she’s a common snob.

And she might be the most human of anyone I know.

If you count purity and sincerity as characteristic of cute animals, then Sagami’s slyness is a characteristic unique to people. She deceives, coaxes, pretends, brags, and exaggerates her own merit. Those are some very human acts.

But the way she builds a pack and deals with her community is similar to that of animals, so on the other hand, you could take her to be a highly developed animal. I suppose the closest comparison might be apes like chimpanzees and bonobos. They are bound by hierarchy and rank, but they’ll occasionally make use of their intellect or shriek to intimidate others.

Being constantly bound by the intracommunity hierarchy and concerned with its workings is who Minami Sagami is.

There are also those who will build a pack in a different sort of way.

Like Yumiko Miura.

If I wanted to make an analogy to how she makes a pack, she’s like a tiger.

You might say she forms her pack to maintain territory, to protect and raise her children. This behavior tends to bring about a sort of maternal impression, but of course, to any other creatures, her claws and fangs are purely a source of fear. I mean, she really is scary…

Therefore, even if both girls have built packs, these packs have completely different nuances.

I wouldn’t say that one of them is right and the other is wrong.

Both of them are right, of course. In society, the number of people you have is what makes you right, and what is right continuously changes depending on where you stand. If I must say, then perhaps the only point where they agree is that being alone is bad.

If that analysis seems harsh, well, so was Class 2-F.

Should I describe it as the savanna? When such a (metaphorically) wild world suddenly manifests in a society as developed as ours, the herbivore males have no choice but to shut up. Man, it’s just brutal. All this unbridled aggression makes you wonder if this is National Geographic. You feel such a threat to your life, it’s like, a safari park would be a little quieter. I could almost smell the blood in the air.

After the incident that morning, the class was filled with a strange tension.

The cause of that was Miura and Sagami. It was nothing new to find them both grumpy, but their power dynamic had now been made clear.

Even during class, when you’d normally hear a bit of murmuring, it was particularly silent. The only sound was the occasional tapping of Miura’s nails on her desk. The stress would give you a stomachache; you didn’t even want to clear your throat. And it just kept going.

Everyone avoided looking at Miura—and at Sagami, the one she was clearly miffed at. I’m sure it was partly because they wanted to avoid conflict, but if anything, I think they were trying to be nice by leaving them alone. Miura’s group of friends in particular, including Hayama, Yuigahama, and Ebina, seemed to understand how to approach her at times like this, and they didn’t really try to talk to her about it.

I mean, if you’re mad and someone asks you why, it’ll make you even angrier—even if you recognize the kindness or concern behind it.

As the fine saying goes, “A wise man does not court danger,” and the more intelligent sorts will not approach other people thoughtlessly. Making contact with others is essentially sowing the seeds of trouble. Therefore, loners are wise, and I’m a wise guy.

But anyway, of course once break hit, enough time had passed since morning, and the regular bustle had returned to the classroom. Or maybe they were just telling themselves that things were normal again by deliberately spending the time as usual and reminding themselves that no, really, nothing at changed.

These little deceptions are valuable social lubrication. For others; since I don’t ever need them, I find them annoying and kind of disconcerting.

This depends on how you establish the definition of close, but if you’re actually close with someone, you wouldn’t have to be so careful around them, would you? It’s because they’re someone you’re not close with that you act so careful. You show your care by not speaking to them or getting close to them. Loners are more than half kindness—we’re 100 percent kindness.

Just as the sun always rises, the usual energy returned to the class with time. Miura was already back to normal, and though she still seemed a bit distracted, she was chatting with Ebina and Yuigahama about this and that.

Once I saw what she was doing, I took in the classroom as a whole.

Sagami, on the other hand, had quietly left the room. Even once break began, she wasn’t spending it with her “friends” that day, her coconspirators in all the backbiting, complaints, gossip, and whining.

Sagami was extremely vain, so the events of that morning—being ignored by Haruka and Yukko, tons of people having seen their fight—seemed to hit her hard.

Occasionally, people will seek out isolation of their own accord. Though they normally abhor and ridicule the loner state, they’ll say they want to be alone only when it’s convenient to them. Isn’t that a little selfish…?

But if she really did want to be alone, there was a proper way to go about it. Rule number one, she shouldn’t try to gain someone’s sympathy or attract their concern, which would debase her own value. It’d be like personally advertising that she was a weakling who couldn’t define the meaning of her own life without the approval of others.

Sagami’s group of friends had noticed how quiet she was and tried to talk to her casually.

But Sagami responded with a weak smile. “I just need a bit…” With that one remark, she quietly left her seat.

This behavior was clearly different from the past.

Distancing people, deliberately putting herself apart—this was different from before, back when she hadn’t even known where to put herself without someone else’s approval or consideration.

I had my doubts about this apparent transformation, and I followed her with my eyes.

I’ll say it again: People don’t change so easily. This is my pet theory.

If you could change yourself based on one single event, then it was never you to begin with.

Someone with an ego, with a conscious awareness of the self, will refuse change in some way. At our core, humans will always try to maintain a sense of identity.

If change still seems to have occurred, then there is just one cause: They fell, got hurt, and got torn to shreds, and finally learned that form of pain. The next time, they’ll try to avoid pain instinctively. That behavior makes it look as if you’ve grown—that’s all.

But once it’s become a habit, it will, at some point, become something that defines you.

People are judged purely by their actions. An objective evaluation is essentially an assessment of your behavior. Therefore, even if your behavior started as instinctual crisis evasion, it can be a precursor to an outward, objective change—even if it isn’t an intrinsic change.

I think it was Mother Teresa who said this: Thoughts become words, and words become actions. Those actions become habits, and habits become personality. And then personality will eventually become your fate, or something like that.

Ah, wise words from the mother. Nice stuff. She’s great. Mother Farm is pretty amazing, too. Their soft-serve ice cream is absolutely delicious.

People are judged based on what comes to the surface: words, actions, and habits. Others will judge these things to be their individual personality, their character.

Could Sagami’s change in behavior really be a precursor to something?

After school, the meeting room was buzzing even louder than before.

The biggest reason for that may have been that Miss Hiratsuka, our supervisor, had other business and was absent today. Even so, no one on the executive side was opening their mouths, while the crew were just aimlessly chatting on and on.

If it had been like this before the start of the meeting, this wouldn’t have been at all strange. It’s normal to have a bit of small talk when people get together.

Unfortunately, right now we were right in the middle of a meeting that was deteriorating.

Of course, no matter how apathetic these kids were, this was a group of high schoolers, so they were still sitting quietly in their seats. But the low murmurs filling the room as they whispered to each other were as unceasing as the sea.

Haruka and Yukko were at its center. They were both total NPCs, as usual, and I couldn’t really tell one from the other. And there were a bunch of other kids sitting in a huddle with them, which just made it worse. It was peak NPC energy over there.

While the executives sat at the front of the room in an open square, the crew was loud but also together in an unshakable group. The way our two sides were set up, it was like they were different tribes trying to hold each other in check.

“Um…if each team could give reports on their current progress…” Sagami hesitantly tried to cut through the chatter.

But no one replied.

“…First, the building projects, I guess. How is the entrance gate going?” Meguri asked, unable to stand by and do nothing.

Well, if we’d been dealing with people who were motivated, then the way Sagami had given instructions would’ve been fine. People who are driven will do what needs to be done themselves. But where we were now, with motivation at rock bottom, you had to narrow down your point, give precise instructions, and indicate specific people, or nobody would react.

I assumed Meguri was asking the crew, but Yuigahama was the one to stand up. “Oh yeah. We’re just about done building the admissions gate, so now it just needs paint and decorations…so yeah.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks,” Meguri responded with a bright smile, but her eyes turned a little grim. No surprise there. Most of the building-related stuff had been assigned to the crew, and we’d also decided who was in charge of what. The ones raising their hands to report now should have been those people.

But now that us executives were involved, they’d decided that the authority had been delegated to us.

Well, I could understand that feeling. It was basically like we were taking back work from them before it was done.

This was a sort of negative spiral: Right now, it wasn’t only motivation being lost—a sense of responsibility was disappearing at the same time. The unspoken rule was becoming I don’t need to do it myself, so I’ll just leave it to someone else.

The attitude shift of the crew was becoming clear: We’re being forced to do this and We’re doing them a favor. We were the ones requesting their help, after all. And the way this had worked out, the story was that they were going to the trouble of finding the time for us, despite being busy with their club activities.

It was clear which party had the upper hand. If they were being paid with some reward, then things would have been somewhat different, but there was no guarantee they’d get anything. Since we weren’t offering any compensation, it would be difficult to motivate them.

Though I could clearly see where we were stuck, the meeting continued.

“Next are the two major events… How are those going?” Meguri inquired, looking over at Yukinoshita. The executive side was essentially managing these things. But still, since all the other miscellaneous work had increased, we couldn’t quite do everything.

“We’ve reviewed the traffic flow for the boys’ event. As for the pending issue of the captains, we’re about to select one for the red team and check with Hayama,” Yukinoshita replied without hesitation.

Well, the pole pull-down wouldn’t need much prep. The rules were simple; we just had to pick out the captains and then it was done.

The problem was the other one—the Chibattle.

“As for the girls’ event…,” Yukinoshita began, and a particularly loud swell of murmurs rose from the crowd. Looking to the epicenter, I saw some girls with their heads together like they were whispering about a secret.

And then one of them timidly raised her hand. Yukinoshita acknowledged her with a slight nod. “…If you have something to say, go ahead.”

Now that I was really looking, I saw it was Haruka.

“Um… Well, it’s about this…chicken fight? You know…it’s a little…,” Haruka said slowly, looking not at Yukinoshita but at her friends, as if she was verifying her answers.

Patiently, we waited for her to continue.

Then Yuigahama sighed in her chair off to the side. What a coincidence—me too. No matter how I thought about it, whatever Haruka had for us was gonna be trouble.

She was being vague because it was something that was hard to say, and things that are hard to say are never good. People are always like this when they’re talking to me, so I understand. What the heck, I’m ridiculously psychic; this is wild. Maybe my dad is gonna make me pose nude for a painting.

What was coming next? I could guess the gist of it, but Yukinoshita chose to prompt her to continue. “A little…what?”

Yukinoshita’s gaze was always sharp, but when she enunciated so clearly, it cut like blades of ice. Haruka flinched, but then she seemed to remember the great number of allies at her back, and she stumbled her way through the rest. “Um, we were thinking, maybe a chicken fight is a little dangerous… You know, some clubs have tournaments coming up, so we don’t really want to do anything where someone could get hurt…” After the end of her argument, she gulped.

There came the slightest pause—who was it for, I wonder? In the dead silence, we all hesitated.

The one to break the ice was, surprisingly, Sagami. Her chair scraped, and she stood. “Wh-why are you bringing this up now…?!” Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly; she had nothing else to say. When Haruka and Yukko looked at one another, her shoulders trembled.

“I’ve been thinking this for a while, but…”

“…We have our clubs, too.”

Neither Haruka nor Yukko averted their eyes. They had a fair point. In their temporary reconciliation with Sagami, the implicit agreement had been that clubs would take priority. That had also been expressed in what they’d said themselves about “cooperating as much as possible.” And since all of us executives, including Sagami, had turned a blind eye to that, we’d justified their views. Fundamentally, we should have argued in that moment, even if it seemed like we were splitting hairs. Making that one concession meant it would be used as a basis to press us for even more.

What she had to do now was shoot them down. That wouldn’t be the wrong response. They were trying to make a demand without going through the proper procedure; it was a bad idea to accept this.

The executives gave Meguri silent eye signals, seeking confirmation on how to deal with this, and Meguri picked up on them but shook her head with a small smile. Then she looked over to Sagami.

Meguri intended to leave this to her.

And as for Sagami herself, she was biting her lip.

“But we’ve already decided…” Sagami barely managed a retort, so quiet it was hard to hear. Haruka and Yukko glanced at her and then back at the crowd, then made eye contact before facing Sagami again.

“But, like, if it was a bad decision, then I think we should fix it now.”

“Plus, we’ve had some time to think about it now, you know?”

The pair of them threw down their counterarguments as if they’d prepared them from the beginning.

Oh, they probably had.

That was exactly why they were sitting in that arrangement. It was reasonable to assume they’d seated themselves together to fortify their surroundings with those of similar opinions. The fastest way to put on pressure is to have a numerical advantage in the background.

From even before the meeting, and now during the meeting, they’ve been giving little complaints on the level of small talk, secretly saying mean things. That makes it easy to nurture antagonism, and it would bring out any number of complaints about Sagami and the executives. Underlings always have complaints, no matter where they are.

Bad-mouthing is exponential. It balloons like a double-or-nothing game in a sort of synergistic effect. Even if each individual complaint is small, when they all come together, they’re taken seriously. Sooner or later, it will even delude people into thinking they’re messengers of justice here to right the wrongs, warriors of a revolution.

The perception that there are others who think similarly will justify your own underhanded behavior. If everyone thinks the same, then you can blindly accept that your own way of thinking is right.

That was the case right here, right now.

By clearly rejecting our plan, they had caused a stir that would shake up everyone with latent dissatisfaction. Once that dissatisfaction was public knowledge, those people would align with Haruka and Yukko.

To prevent that, the executives had to execute firm leadership and mercilessly beat down that faction’s opinions immediately. Just as in the world of beasts, they had to make a clear show of who was stronger.

If this were Yukinoshita, she probably would have done that. Even if their line of argument was only slightly irrational, she would have immediately struck it down. Yuigahama would smile and smooth things over, saying something like Wellll… as she searched for an easygoing way to negotiate. Either would have figured out a way out of this situation.

But before we could make a move, Sagami quietly spoke. “But it’s kind of late for that now…,” she muttered weakly. She looked anxious and pale. She swayed and thumped into her chair like she was collapsing into it.

The tide of battle had been decided.

Now that Sagami, the leader of the executive side, had given in, the murmurs spread like ripples on the surface of water.

“A chicken fight really would be dangerous,” someone muttered—not Haruka or Yukko. Someone else from the crew must have said it.

Another voice followed. “And our tournament is coming up…”

“Whose fault will it be if someone gets hurt?”

Voices rose here and there, then blazed up like wildfire. Everyone said whatever they wanted, and then more people joined in until it was beyond control. The meeting room became a crucible of complaints and grievances until a loud clap rang out.

“Okay, attention!”

I looked over to see that Meguri was standing. “We understand all your doubts. We’ll be sure to think up a plan to deal with them,” she declared, and she quickly ended the discussion.

As expected of someone with her experience, she was quick to handle the situation. It would be best to end the meeting now and beat out the sparks before they spread. Cutting it off a little earlier would have been better, but Meguri had the tendency to keep her silence to test Sagami. But, well, since we were doing something similar, I couldn’t complain.

“For now, let’s get the other tasks going,” Meguri said to keep this conversation from dragging on any further.

But the people in the crew shared looks and whispered to each other. They weren’t going to let the discussion end here, were they?

Many of them were eyeing her with doubt.

Though it was quite clear from the beginning that Haruka and Yukko’s protests were just quibbles from a couple of particularly brazen girls, I couldn’t say for certain that their concerns were unmerited. It was true that we, as the executives, should have been considering safety measures. I could understand that they’d get a bit sensitive with the clubs’ tournaments so close.

But if you’re gonna make that argument, then you shouldn’t be in regular gym classes, either…

You can bump into things while you’re walking, and running will lead to falls. People will always get hurt. Just by being alive, you’ll be hurt and hurt others—that’s how it goes.

But still, there was no point in my proclaiming such ideals or principles now. We had to present something that could make them back down right that moment, or they weren’t going to let us drop it.

The crew were putting the pressure on with their looks—scornful and unhappy. They’d just been taking orders all this time; the way they saw it, the incompetent executives couldn’t give clear guidelines to address this important problem. Griping about trivial things but then not showing leadership when it counts most is what a useless boss would do.

But if they didn’t take us seriously enough, they might run into trouble.

We had a natural-born competitive type here who would respond if someone threw down the gauntlet so hard. What’s more, she was ridiculously capable.

Until then, Yukino Yukinoshita had remained silent with crossed arms, but then she unfolded them and quietly raised her hand.

“Go ahead, Yukinoshita,” Meguri said.

Yukinoshita silently rose to her feet, walked to the whiteboard, and picked up a marker. “To deal with this, given the current situation, there are a number of plans that will work.”

Realizing something was beginning, the whole meeting room focused its attention on her as Yukinoshita started writing in smooth strokes across the board. “A first aid team will be on hand, for one, and we’ll be cooperating with the local fire department. There will be strict adherence to the rules, more severe punishments for infractions, and tighter monitoring. Of course, this will require some personnel…” As she spoke, she continued to write. Maybe it was her calmness that left everyone with their mouths hanging open.

And then after writing a little more, she spun around to face us. “We’ll establish the first aid team ourselves after a consultation with the school nurse, and I believe the school can contact the local fire department to formally propose the plan.” She shot a look over at Meguri, who nodded back at her.

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. The student council will make a request to the school.”

After swiftly acquiring her assent, Yukinoshita moved on without giving the others time to slip in any questions. “Students will be made aware of the rules in writing beforehand, and we’ll also have the teachers help with supervision. This should curtail any dangerous behavior…”

This well-reasoned explanation was so like Yukinoshita.

The crew all reflected carefully on every item mentioned. I could see some of them consulting with each other in murmurs and hushed voices.

“What do we do?”

“Well, if that’s the plan…”

“But you know…”

“Right?”

This wasn’t really an exchange of opinions—more like a confirmation of feelings. They were reading the implications while also turning the atmosphere in their favor.

This high-context conversation went on, and eventually, it converged on our firebrands, Haruka and Yukko.

The two of them made a firm eye signal, and this time, Yukko timidly raised her hand. “But you can’t be certain about that…” She seemed frightened, struggling to look up from the floor. She occasionally glanced over at Yukinoshita, as if she was trying to see how she was doing.

Yukinoshita met her gaze, never breaking eye contact, cold and clear. Yukko’s voice gradually withered away. But she didn’t retract any of it; she just ended with a quiet “Ahhh.”

It seemed this was no longer a matter simple enough to be settled with logic. Even when you try undoing tangled thread, once it’s got kinks in it, it’ll just curl into knots again.

Plus, the executives were only pushing themselves to find a way to compromise with what the crew wanted, and that was all this was. Just one cog slipping out of place would make it all easily fall apart.

The silence continued for a long time. No—it was probably only a few seconds. But the air was so still, it sure felt like ages.

Though I doubt she had ever really been looking at the clock, Haruka slowly said, “We’re about out of time…”

That remark prompted the others to look at the clock, too.

“A-anyway, since we have a plan to deal with this, for today…” Yuigahama reached up and lightly tugged on Yukinoshita’s sleeve.

“…Yes. Let’s work this out and organize a foolproof plan.”

“Then let’s call it a day. Great work, everyone! Oh, those who have tasks, do stay behind,” Meguri said, after Yukinoshita was done speaking. The gentleness of her tone undid the unease all at once, and after that, the room felt less suffocating.

There was a sluggish, stagnating air among those who stayed behind to work, but Haruka and Yukko immediately left. A few more followed. Since we’d promised to keep from overburdening the clubs, we couldn’t criticize them for it.

Those remaining here watched them go. The executives breathed short sighs.

But these were not at all sighs of relief. In fact, I’d call them sighs of resignation.

The problem was more deeply rooted than I had thought.

After time ran out on the meeting and then our time for tasks was over, we were thoroughly reminded that we hadn’t resolved a single thing.

In the end, the executives would be stuck working at full force that day, too. With the time and people we had left, and the new safety measures sprouting up on top of that, it really didn’t feel like we’d make it.

Since so many of us were gone, the cool fall wind breezed right through from the open window.

An “open office” clearly means one with few people, I thought as I considered the exploitative labor environment I was stuck in.

In addition to building items like the entrance gate and panels, I also got together material like poles and ropes and stuff and entered completed tasks into a checklist. It was dull, but when you can see the end of it, that’s a saving grace of its own. All the more so in a situation like this one, where we didn’t have enough people.

The real problem is handling work you see no end to.

At the final stage of the checklist, an additional handwritten note said, Regarding the safety management of the Chibattle. I could feel my forehead wrinkling as I looked at that phrase.

And I wasn’t the only one—all the executives in the meeting room at that moment felt the same.

“Right, so then what do we do about this…?” Meguri said with a hmm.

Yuigahama seemed to be in the same headspace; she folded her arms, tilted her head, and hmm’d as well, then gave up on thinking and sighed. “But I felt like Yukinon covered all the bases, there…”

“Yep. Frankly, if that doesn’t persuade them, I’ll wanna throw in the towel.” I agreed with Yuigahama.

I was actually impressed with Yukinoshita, like Wow, for coming up with such a logical plan on the spot like that. But if we still couldn’t get agreement from the crew after all that, then this was no longer just an issue of right and wrong.

This had begun with emotions—in antipathy toward Sagami and the executives.

Putting it like this, it really seems like a childish rationale, but that’s the fundamental nature of people. Emotions are difficult to control, and they’re incorrigible. Occasionally, they clash, and that brings about tragedy.

Sagami’s hands suddenly stopped in her task, and she muttered, “Maybe I should just quit…”

That remark was a bit surprising. It was much more sincere than before. I think that was because the words sounded like they were directed at herself, rather than at anyone else. It didn’t seem like she was trying to get anyone to acknowledge her.

None of us could reply.

In the silent meeting room, there was the rustling of cloth as Yuigahama quietly folded her arms the other way. “…Maybe. But still, I think this will work out.”

I think Yukinoshita had said something similar before, herself, but more as a test. Yuigahama’s tone was soft and gave me the impression she was trying to show concern for Sagami.

Sagami also seemed to pick up on that, and a wry, resigned smile came to her face. She was already aware of her own incompetence. “…Yeah.”

“It’s all messed up now,” Yuigahama continued, “but it’s not like you won’t get a second chance. They might understand one day…”

“Yeah…” Sagami nodded weakly in response, then hung her head again. I’m sure she didn’t believe a single word of Yuigahama’s conciliatory remark.

Sagami had already given up. She’d given up continuing on as the chair, and on ever reaching an understanding with Haruka and Yukko.

If that was what she herself wanted, then there was nothing to be done.

Sagami didn’t have what it took to be a leader in the first place. We’d learned that lesson well during the cultural festival incident.

The request we’d accepted this time was to make the sports festival succeed and to normalize the atmosphere of Class 2-F by doing something about Sagami.

If Sagami was so stricken, then most likely, she’d settle down for a while. Of course, once some time had passed, she might go bag on someone to justify her past actions. Frankly, considering her personality, it seemed likely.

But still, we could keep her quiet for the moment.

Then once Sagami had quit, if we could cover everything and guide the sports festival to success, then we would complete the request, in form. I wouldn’t call that the best outcome, but it would be reasonable. I figure that compromise would be the most we could do here.

As I was making these calculations, a chair scraped against the floor.

Looking over, I saw Yukinoshita had corrected the position of her seat. She’d had her eyes closed and arms folded earlier, but now she was sitting up straight and fixing her eyes ahead—on Sagami. “…But are you okay with that?”

“…Huh?” Sagami raised her head, confused. She didn’t understand what Yukinoshita wanted to accomplish by saying that.

But Yukinoshita continued, unperturbed. “You may not get a next time or a someday.” Yukinoshita’s words were cold, like sharp thorns, but her voice itself was kind, which was why Sagami could say nothing.

“…”

If Yukinoshita’s tone had been more of a challenge, Sagami may still have been able to come up with a reply.

But when you’re having a tough time or otherwise in pain, kindness works. It shoves your own pathetic self in your face so plainly; it proves you’re the sort of tiny creature that will be pitied; it makes you realize you’re so powerless that someone else is helping you out with their kindness.

It feels better, if only a little, when someone treats you badly, because then you can say they didn’t understand you.

Sagami bit her lip. She didn’t instantly reply that she was quitting, which meant she was still holding on. But if she also couldn’t say she was staying, that was because she had made an accurate assessment of her situation.

The reality was that now that it had come to this, whether Sagami was the chair didn’t really matter. We would lose the manpower of only one person, Sagami as an individual. This was too messed up to expect her leadership to guide us. Frankly speaking, Sagami was unnecessary in her current position.

However, as for whether her quitting would solve it, the answer was no. We had already gone past that stage.

Sagami quitting now wouldn’t resolve the problem.

Maybe she’d see slight improvement emotionally. If Haruka and Yukko’s complaint were more simply that they didn’t like Sagami, that would have worked out. But since the other party had introduced this strange logic, it had become more difficult to bring the situation under control.

Safety management and club activities.

The question was, Why were they making a fuss now? This bizarre logic was probably born from their attempts to coherently explain their emotional reasoning—their personal, subjective hate.

There’s nothing more hopeless than logic that has originated from emotion. Like with this incident, they’d first reached the conclusion that they didn’t like Sagami and the executives, and then they’d constructed logic to guide them to this point. Even if we destroyed their argument and told them their logic was wrong, we’d have to detangle their emotions from it all, or we’d never get them to listen.

And what’s more, now that they were armed with this weird logic, they could no longer back down. Once we’re at this stage, all that awaits is a never-ending mudslinging contest.

“I…” Sagami’s head dropped, and her throat was tight as she spoke. But her voice faded, and the rest didn’t come out.

Everyone went silent, waiting for the conclusion she would offer.

Yukinoshita closed her eyes again and quietly listened, while Yuigahama watched Sagami gravely. I rested my chin on one palm and listened as I mulled over trivial issues like My nails are too long…

It was just one person. Only one person did something unexpected.

Meguri cleared her throat in a somewhat deliberate-sounding way, then slowly began to speak. “I think you’re doing a good job, Sagami.”

“Huh?” Sagami raised her head in surprise.

Yukinoshita and Yuigahama reacted with similar shock. They maybe should have been more discreet, but I don’t blame them. After seeing everything Sagami had done so far, it was unusual to judge that she’d done well.

At their candid reactions, Meguri frantically waved her hands as she hurried to add, “Ah, um, well, you know… U-uh, it’s true that you don’t quite have the skills… But I’m not supercompetent myself, either, so I get it. You’re doing your best.”

That wasn’t so surprising. I did get the feeling that Meguri’s practical business skills were mediocre at best, and I didn’t really get the impression that she was a strong leader outside of the student council.

She seemed a little self-conscious about that herself, quietly looking away to scratch her cheek in embarrassment. “Oh…there were a lot of really competent people in the years before me. You know”—her voice faded to a murmur—”…like Haru.”

Yukinoshita’s eyes narrowed at the name.

It’s true—Haruno Yukinoshita is on a whole different level as a character. Not only does she excel in practical skills, there’s something sort of scary about her power of command, how she can see straight through someone to seize control of their heart. Nobody can compare.

“People like to tell me I’m a scatterbrain and stuff, and they’re right… Ah-ha-ha, without everyone on the student council, I’d be a total disaster,” Meguri said, and all the student council got a little teary-eyed. Some of them were even acting all touched and going like, Aw, come on. Just how much did these guys adore her?

But, as that fact indicated, Meguri was saying she was only managing this seat of leadership with the personal charm she just happened to have. Turn that around, and she was saying Sagami lacked that charm, but let’s leave that aside for now.

“I think you’re doing well, Sagami. You’ve worked hard to get this far, so why not keep at it just a little longer?” Meguri was smiling shyly. It was very attractive on someone with such a cute personality.

Though nobody had actively tried to stop Sagami, only Meguri sincerely thought well of her development, and that was why Meguri was trying to entrust the future to her. This was why the student council adored Meguri and why she was still the president.

The lines of Sagami’s face softened. This was probably the first time during the course of the cultural and sports festivals that someone had shown her appreciation.

“How about it?” Meguri said with a smile, punctuating her question, and Sagami gave her a little nod.

Yuigahama and the student council breathed out little sighs as they watched. Yukinoshita’s expression remained in place, but there was a hint of a smile in her eyes.

But this scene didn’t look so beautiful to me.

This decision would drive Sagami into an even more painful and difficult position than she already was. She would be marked with wounds she’d avoided receiving before.

Kindness is poison. Meguri’s comfort would force Sagami into an even worse predicament. Running away would have been the right decision to avoid further damage. This was walking out into the line of fire. Even if this went well, the grudges of the past were not going to disappear.

We already knew. A fistfight is not going to bloom into friendship. You can paint over animosity with positive feelings, but it’ll never disappear. When you least expect it, the guilt will peel off to reveal the hate and malice underneath.

So there wasn’t much point in Sagami’s determination or efforts.

However, if Sagami was prepared for that and still said she wanted to take the lead…

…then that meant something. She was rebelling against the people who failed to understand her; she was lashing out against the majority.

I will not reject those who walk the honorable path of solitude, so I wasn’t going to invalidate her decision, even if there was a horror to the kindness that had led to it.

“All right, then what are we gonna do?” This was why I decided to set aside my own analysis and move the conversation onward. I had no right to obstruct Sagami’s decision. I wasn’t even obligated to warn her. I doubt she wanted to hear anything I had to say anyway. She had already made up her mind. The chair would not be replaced, which meant we had to decide where we were going from there and crystallize that into concrete measures.

Once that question had been raised, Yukinoshita immediately responded, “I see no reason for us to capitulate, so we have no choice but to make them back down.”

Calm and collected as ever. This was a policy that would respect the conclusion Sagami had reached. If confronting them and trying to compromise was not going to work out, then there was nothing for it now but to beat them down. I also agreed with that plan.

“But…” Sagami frowned hesitantly. It seemed what had just happened was apparently causing her some concern.

Meguri continued for her. “How will we get them to back down?”

This was the problem. Neither I nor Yukinoshita had a solid plan for that yet.

After some moments of silent consideration, Yuigahama timidly raised her hand, so I nodded for her to go ahead. “Like…t-try to convince them?” she asked nervously.

I mean, yeah. But given the current situation, I doubted it would be an effective method.

“We’ve done plenty of that already…,” I said.

All this time, we’d been nagging them to come work, we’d imposed a shift schedule, and we’d even rearranged the shifts for the crew, too.

After those concessions and compromises, here we were. Meguri, who had seen this firsthand, strongly agreed. “You’re right. We have to think about their motivation… If we start nagging and that drains their enthusiasm, it’ll make everything worse,” she said.

That seemed to convince Yuigahama, too, and she hmm’d with a particularly difficult expression, folding her arms. But I wasn’t really convinced.

The word motivation stuck with me awfully. Who here had ever been motivated?

I had no intention of supporting Sagami or of becoming an ally to Haruka and Yukko—since neither side was right. We had to restart from the ground up. “…So do we make the crew all quit instead? And then gather new people,” I suggested, half joking. Meaning I was also half-serious.

Once things get messed up, you’re screwed. If we weren’t going to bail, then they would bail. It was extremely simple logic. Besides, rather than just half dealing with the problem and leaving a breeding ground for future trouble, it wouldn’t be out of the question to go back to square one instead.

“Hmm… We might not make it in time, then.” Meguri scrunched up her forehead, creating a valley between her eyes. In terms of the days remaining, we did have some leeway, but we couldn’t operate on weekends. Plus, as Meguri said, we didn’t really have the time to start gathering up a whole new crowd. I also understood that my idea was unrealistic. But with our current personnel, we wouldn’t make it in time anyway.

Then suddenly, Yukinoshita said, “…I’m sure we will need to invest in some new help, but I don’t think we can replace absolutely everyone. Realistically, we should narrow it down to a few and limit them purely to assisting roles.”

“Getting assistance for us instead, huh?” I said.

Yukinoshita nodded and put her hand to her chin, gathering her thoughts. “That’s right. We fell behind in our own work because we were dealing with crew matters, so we should be trying to get ourselves back on track.”

So even if we were going to get new help from somewhere, we still had the same problem of how to manage our existing forces.

Listening to us, Yuigahama stuck up a finger. “Whatever we do, this means we have to come up with a plan to work with the people we have now, right?”

“But I don’t think they’ll cooperate with us anymore…,” Sagami said apologetically.

“They essentially have a hold on our greatest weakness—we’re short on manpower.” Yukinoshita breathed a short sigh. She pressed her temple with her fingertips, looking rather weak herself.

…Weakness, huh?

She was right. Because we couldn’t get ourselves fresh recruits, the current crew’s cooperation was vital for us. And we had no way to get it.

The success of the sports festival rested in their hands, so to speak, which was exactly why they could be so aggressive with us.

They knew this wouldn’t happen without their help, so they were threatening us. We just won’t do it—are you okay with that? And it wasn’t just one or two of them, either. Those two girls had brought the group together and fostered the rebellion among the whole crew.

The position of ultimate strength, the superiority of numbers—the people who leverage that power are my enemies.

Those girls were arrogantly challenging us to give in or risk losing their help. Just who the hell do you think you are? I, for one, am being used constantly, so are you two under the impression you can speak to me that way and get away with it, hmm? Are you mocking me? Don’t you underestimate middle management.

I hate it when being right doesn’t solve the problem, and I hate it when logic fails to apply. I also hate myself for assigning rationale to others’ behavior so I can be okay with it.

If they weren’t going to be logical, then we’d fight fire with more fire. When irrationality has breached the front line, reason has to retreat.

The girls were taking the sports festival hostage. They were telling us with their behavior rather than their words that the festival planning was going to stall if we didn’t do as they say. Whether or not they were doing this consciously, that’s the result.

We had only one move open to us.

“We could use the same trick…”

“What do you mean?” Yuigahama tilted her head, turning to face me.

“At heart, this is a leadership conflict between us and the crew. They’re running a strike, or at least a slowdown, to push through their demands—by taking the sports festival as their hostage.”

“…Potage,” Yuigahama said for some reason. She wore a serious, pensive expression.

I don’t think she gets it… Corn and potatoes had nothing to do with it. Neither do cottages. It sounds similar but means something completely different.

While Yuigahama was stalled out, Yukinoshita frowned and shot me a cold look. What, you don’t like it when I’m trying to be indirect?

“What, specifically?” she asked.

So I told them the concept I was thinking of. “I’m talking about mutually assured destruction—a hostage situation.”

That was enough for Yukinoshita to catch my drift. Her large eyes widened as she looked at me, and then she breathed a long sigh. “I’m shocked…and amazed you would come up with that. That is legitimately absurd. Or refreshingly malicious, perhaps…”

“Is that a compliment?” I asked back automatically.

Yukinoshita blinked two, three times. “My, it didn’t sound that way?”

“It didn’t…,” I replied.

Yukinoshita’s whole face suddenly lit up with glee. “I’m sure. As I wasn’t complimenting you.”

I thought so. I was just thinking, As usual, she has no taste in compliments. It’s scary how you can get used to things. But, well, if she’s grown in any way, it’s her knack for backhanded compliments. I’d prefer it if she could divert some of that growth elsewhere… Of course, I would never say this out loud.

As I was silently cursing her, Yukinoshita let out a giggle so tiny I almost missed it. “But…it’s not a bad idea.” She grinned defiantly. Attack suits her so much better than defense.

“That being the case, some preparatory groundwork will be necessary…,” she muttered to herself, putting her hand to her mouth again as she focused on thought. That giggle almost distracted me, but man, she really is scary…

She’s scary when she’s gleefully plotting her schemes, but she’s also scary when she deduces what I’m trying to do from just one term. The others looked a little confused by our exchange, unable to piece it together themselves.

“Hikigaya, could you explain for us?” Meguri asked.

So I turned to her. “I mean we’re going to take their sports festival hostage, too.”

“Whaaat?” Sagami gave me a doubtful, almost derisive look. She really does piss me off… The way she talks is so dang obnoxious.

But I wasn’t gonna whisper that into Meguri’s ear like a little kid, then be like I’m not telling youuuu to Sagami. ’Cause when people do that to you, it will piss you off. It’s genuinely hurtful… If you don’t want me to hear about it, then don’t go out of your way to make sure I know you’re sharing a secret, geez. Little kids do such unbearably brutal things.

I’m not in elementary school anymore. Now I’m a full-fledged high school student. So as a high school student ought, I chose to explain in a snarky, roundabout way. Plus, I just didn’t like the idea of genuinely spelling everything out for Sagami.

“We’ll take their precious sports festival from them. We’ll ruin it. We’ll show them, If you’re fine without it, then bring it.”

But maybe that was a little too roundabout. I still wasn’t understood, and both Sagami’s and Meguri’s mouths were hanging open. Yuigahama seemed lost, too.

Meguri and Sagami exchanged looks as if they were checking with one another, Did you get what he just said? Meguri looked a bit embarrassed, while Sagami’s pride probably got in the way of her asking anything.

One person took a bold step forward. “…S-so what do you mean?” Yuigahama tug-tugged on my sleeve.

Uh, those little tugs are making me kinda shy, so could you quit it…? I gently but smoothly pulled away from her hand and the awkwardness as I explained, “If they’re going to implicitly demand that Sagami be removed from her post, then we’ll demand they be removed. If they’re gonna rely on numbers, then we just have to expand the scope.”

If they wanted to rely on their position of absolute strength, then we would wield the same sword. If they wanted to strike with the superiority of numbers, then we would cut them with the same blade.

Simply put:

“Fight fire with fire. It’s simple,” I added at the end.

Yuigahama clapped her hands. “O-ohhh… I get it! I think…” Her conviction quickly evaporated as she approached the end of her sentence.

Well, you had to actually do it, or it wasn’t really going to get across. I turned to Yukinoshita, who was gathering her thoughts, to discuss with her how the operation would go in practice.

We dispassionately confirmed what to do, explained the basic plan to everyone there, and discussed solutions to any potential problems. This wasn’t a huge undertaking, but we would need some props ready.

Once I had finished explaining everything, Meguri gave an impressed-sounding ohhhh. Then she stared at me for a second.

“…Huh, what is it?” I asked, since she was looking at me longer than it seemed she should.

But she slowly shook her head. “No, it’s nothing… You really are…a horrible guy, Hikigaya.”

She smiled mischievously and giggled.

While preparing for the next meeting, we also had to make decisions about other adjustments. We had to deal with the breakdown of the committee, but we also had to simultaneously keep the practical work the executives were handling on schedule, or the sports festival definitely wouldn’t happen.

The next day, we’d be dealing with the two big festival events, the unresolved item on the agenda.

We had two major issues to deal with.

The first was the costumes for the Chibattle. We had to come up with a cost-cutting plan and ideas to reduce the amount of labor involved. After my text-based conversation with Zaimokuza the other day, I’d basically come up with a good idea.

After school but before going to the meeting, I immediately began my mission. I had to, or else my target would go home.

When I headed over to talk to her, she was about to do just that, hefting her bag over her shoulder. With each languid step forward, her long, blue-tinged black hair swayed. Keeping it bound was, surprisingly, a handmade scrunchie.

As usual, Saki Kawasaki had this air of fatigue about her. Her eyes, narrowed in displeasure, were already directed toward the exit.

Though I’d sneaked up to her without a sound, I couldn’t quite figure out how to begin the conversation.

“…”

Maybe, Hey! or something like that? Ugh, too cheery; it’s creepy… I’m not close enough with her to be like, Whassup. I guess Um, or Sorry, or Hi there would be safe. But wouldn’t she suspect I don’t remember her name? Still, it’d be rather risky to call her Kawasaki, since I’m not really sure if that’s actually her name. And besides, sometimes the kanji for “cape,” is saki and sometimes it’s zaki. That’s confusing. Make it consistent.

As my minor concerns mounted, I groaned in contemplation, alerting Kawasaki to my presence.

“…Eeep!” She seemed startled when she saw me, letting out a short shriek and hastily backing up a few steps. Her eyes had gone round as if she’d met a ninja. It was like she was saying, Ninja! Why ninja?!

Uh, no need to be that shocked…

Kawasaki must have been embarrassed by her own reaction, because she suddenly blushed as she glared at me. “…What?”

“Oh, nothing…” With her scowling at me like that, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, either. I mean, she’s scary… But she’s got a heart of gold, as you might have noticed from her earlier reaction. Yeah. Definitely.

Reassuring myself, I searched for a way to start the conversation. “You going home now?” I asked.

She gave me a blank look. Then she jerked her head away and replied quietly, “…Y-yeah.”

“I see.”

“…Uh…huh.” After that reply, Kawasaki started quietly fiddling with her cuff, and she didn’t look at me at all. But she didn’t end the conversation and leave, either. She just stood there in silence.

Whoa now, how do I move this conversation forward? I’m getting the sense this isn’t going anywhere. Normally, other people will start conversations…, he says, and he means it. Neither of us were talking, and it was kind of making me fidgety. What the heck is with this vibe?

I really couldn’t maintain an indefinite silence here, so I tried to say something. It sounded more like I was muttering to myself, which was creepy even for me: “I see, so you’re going home, I see…”

Then, most likely in an attempt to be considerate, Kawasaki glanced over at me and said, “Y-you need something?”

“Ahhh, yeah, yeah. Do you have a minute?” I asked. Her question made it quite a bit easier for me to talk, and finally, I had reached the prologue to the matter at hand.

Kawasaki paused for a moment in thought, then turned away again, and in a just barely audible voice, she replied, “…………I do.”

I see; that’s good. She seems like she’d be busy with this and that, like a job or cram school or family stuff and whatnot, so I’d been a little worried about how she would answer.

But this had made it easier to ask her a favor. Still, this wasn’t a small favor, so I couldn’t say it too casually. To ensure my request sounded completely sincere, I cleared my throat before asking, “…Could you make some clothes for me?”

And then, as if time had stopped, a long, long silence fell upon us.

Kawasaki’s mouth hung open, and she blinked a bunch of times. After a few seconds passed, finally, she seemed able to understand what I’d said. “…Huh? M-me? M-make clothes for you? Wh-why would I…?” She was dithering, waving her hands around in confusion.

I guess I needed to use more words there. I’d thought I’d get agreement from her first and then explain the details. But first, I added, “Oh, not for me personally. I want to use them for an event in the sports festival. Though I don’t mean for you to do everything. It’s just, if you could teach us how to make some stuff.”

“Oh, for the sports festival. I wondered…” Kawasaki’s chest moved up and down as she sighed deeply. I could tell she was relieved. “Oh yeah, so you’re on the committee or something, huh?” she said as if she didn’t really care. She was back to her usual languid manner, nothing like before.

Well, the Sports Festival Committee had hardly been made public, so most people shouldn’t be aware of it if they weren’t already a part of it.

“You knew about that?”

She replied carelessly, “I heard from Taishi.”

It seemed what I’d said to Komachi the other day had spread around. My little sister has a terrifying ability to disseminate information. Also, the Kawasaki siblings are terrifying for talking about that sort of thing with each other. Why do you guys bother talking about this stuff?

“Your massive brother complex is showing…,” I said with a shiver, and Kawasaki suddenly turned to look me right in the eye.

“I’ll hit you,” she threatened.

“I-I’m sorry.”

Her eyes were so sharp that I automatically offered a sincere apology. When it comes to her brother, she gets serious. It’s terrifying. Especially her brother complex.

Shrugging in exasperation, Kawasaki swept the hair off her shoulders. “The committee, huh…? You were involved in that stuff last time, too. How do you keep finding these problems for yourself?”

“That’s just what my club does.”

“Hmm…”

I replied with a sigh as Kawasaki made that halfhearted listening noise, and the conversation petered out. Unsure what to do with all the silence, she fiddled with the ends of her hair, which didn’t seem particularly damaged.

And then, her eyes still focused on her hands, she suddenly asked in her usual languid way, “…Is that the only reason?”

“Huh? There’s nothing else,” I answered immediately, without really thinking it through.

Kawasaki quietly lowered her gaze. “I see…” She seemed rather disinterested in the answer to the question she’d asked.

But now I wanted to know why she did. “What about it?”

“No, nothing. It’s just that I don’t get it.”

Well, of course. People never understand others. I could respect Kawasaki’s stance as one who was cognizant of that.

More importantly, I wouldn’t want to be understood.

When someone thinks they understand a question no one knows the answer to, it’s unbearable. I’m not seeking understanding or answers.

When I realized Kawasaki’s odd question had pulled the conversation offtrack, I dragged it back. “Oh, so about the clothes.”

“Sure, that’s no big deal. I’ve got the free time, now that I’m not working.” This time, she replied instantly.

“Oh? Thanks… So come to the meeting room in an hour,” I instructed.

Kawasaki seemed startled, eyes widening. “Wait, today?”

“Oh, yeah. You said you have time, right?”

“Yeah, but…” She gave up arguing any further, heaved a sigh, and said quite grudgingly, “Agh, fine, I get it.”

Well, I guess it was pretty harsh to suddenly tell her to come that day. But we didn’t really have much time. I felt bad, but I was going to make her help us out with this now. “Sorry. I’ll make it up to you soon,” I said, unusually serious for me.

“…You don’t have to,” she said, turning away.

Kawasaki said she’d kill some time hanging around for a while and then come over, so I parted ways with her and headed for the meeting.

Most of the principal members had already assembled.

There was Sagami, the committee chair, then Meguri, Yukinoshita, Yuigahama, and the members of the student council. The main topic on the agenda for this meeting was the selection of the captains for the pole pull-down.

For this matter, we’d already settled on Hayama as the strongest candidate for the white team. This did depend on how negotiations went, but Hayato Hayama could never abandon people in trouble. He wouldn’t refuse someone coming to ask him for help. This had already been demonstrated in the past, when we’d held that disaster of a judo tournament. So now we just had to decide on a captain for the red team.

And for this event, we couldn’t go without asking for assistance from one particular individual.

This was where our exclusive advisor, Hina Ebina, came in.

“Ello-ellooo!” With that nonsensical greeting, Ebina waltzed into the meeting room.

“Yahallo, Hina!” Yuigahama responded with a light wave, and Ebina went straight over to a nearby chair to sit down.

“Thanks for all your trouble,” said Meguri.

“Oh, it’s all good,” Ebina replied with a grin before sliding her gaze over to Yukinoshita and swiftly getting down to business. “Today, we’re deciding on the captains for the pole pull-down, right?”

“Yes. As for the white team candidate, we’re all right with Hayama, I take it? If so, the committee will submit a formal offer,” Yukinoshita said.

Ebina responded with a couple of nods. “Yeah, that seems fine? Although I’m not sure if Hayato’ll do it.”

“You think he won’t?” Sagami said, sounding surprised.

Ebina smiled vaguely. “Hmm… No, I think he will, but we have to actually ask him.”

“Hayama’ll do it,” I said.

Ebina’s glasses flashed, and she leaned forward eagerly. The drool dripping from her mouth was sparkling, too. “Oh my, it feels like you have some trust in him…”

“That’s not what it is…,” I replied. I was half-weirded-out and half-exasperated and 100 percent sure she was wrong. Yes, this feeling was nothing like what she thought it was. In fact, I’d call it the complete opposite.

Hayato Hayama strikes me as someone who wants to solve every problem without conflict. That’s why he’s mastered that mysterious ability called the Zone. His principles amount to “don’t rock the boat,” so to speak. That’s why he’ll say yes to any request.

But there was no need to bother explaining that stuff to Ebina. I was too freaked out by the inferno burning in her eyes.

I decided to end that line of conversation by making a reference to what Hayama had said previously. “He asked before if there was anything he could help with, that’s all.”

Yukinoshita nodded then. “You’ve already locked him in to this commitment, hmm?”

Uh, the way you said that. It’s not good… It kind of sounds like I’m deceiving him, okay?

But Yukinoshita didn’t give me the time to correct her, briskly moving on. “That will speed things up. Yuigahama, could you contact him within the day?”

“Okay.” Before Yuigahama even finished saying it, she immediately pulled out her phone and started typing a message. Anyway, as long as we had this hotline, we could assume it was basically settled that Hayama would be the white team captain.

So far, things were going according to plan. The problem was the other team.

Yukinoshita refolded her arms and dropped her gaze to the desk. There was the list of students, split into red and white teams, that the student council had made for us.

“And now for a red candidate, hmm…,” Yukinoshita muttered while meticulously checking over the test.

Beside her, I casually flipped through it as I said, “Well, whoever’s going up against Hayama should be someone equal to him.” This was a major event that all the boys in the school would be participating in, so the captain for this should be someone popular and well-known. On that point, you couldn’t complain about Hayama as a selection. But as for who would compete against him—that was pretty hard.

“Hmm…”

As I was considering, a certain someone shot her hand up. “Ohhh!” It was Ebina.

Panting heavily, glasses fogging up, she started talking before anyone gave her permission. “Hikitani would have a great balance with him! Top-bottom balance, I mean!”

Ha-ha-ha. Hell no.

I laughed mirthlessly in my head. For now, I would ignore her.

“Is there anyone else like Hayama?” I’m not really informed on affairs in the school—more specifically, I’m not interested, so I turned to someone who I thought was more knowledgeable on the subject.

Yuigahama considered. “Hmm… If it’s someone who stands out like Hayato, then…Tobecchi?”

“With that one, it’s less that he stands out and more that he’s an eyesore, wouldn’t you say?” Yukinoshita retorted without missing a beat.

Wow, mean…

Tobe is a hopeless, trash-level character, but I don’t think he’s a bad guy. You know, seeing as he did act as my scapegoat, after all (involuntarily).

But Tobe was a step down compared with Hayama. And, checking the list, he was on the white team, too. Man, Tobe’s so useless.

Any others on the red team, red team… As I was scanning the list, I found a familiar name. Yoshiteru Zaimokuza… If we wanted an attention-getter, there really isn’t anyone who sticks out like a sore thumb as badly as him. Maybe Superstarman, but that’s it.

But Zaimokuza was too lacking in various ways to compare with Hayama—mainly in common sense. So I eliminated him. If possible, I’d love to eliminate him from my memory.

I couldn’t quite come up with any people who struck me as the right pick. As I was silently looking over the list, Sagami, who’d also been scanning the names, opened her mouth.

“Meguri, what about the third-years?” she asked.

Meguri tilted her head. “Hmm, our grade is a pretty quiet one… I don’t think I can really think of any types like Hayama.”

A reasonable conclusion, given what Hayama had going for him. How many people could there be who were good-looking, smart, nice, athletic, and also popular? Beaujolais may have found a way to annually churn out quality you usually only find once every ten years, but Hayama is a talent truly worthy of the word outstanding.

No matter what Hayama’s like, I’m forced to acknowledge his ability.

If the third-years had no one, then you’d consider the first-years, but first-years are too new to be known by the whole school. We shouldn’t take them into account.

“A deadlock, huh?” I moaned, just when Yuigahama clapped her hands as if she’d thought of something.

“Oh, Hayato is a club captain, so then wouldn’t it be fun to choose another club captain for the red team? Like a battle of the captains?”

“A battle of the captains, huh…?” Hmm, if that was the concept we went with, then it might seem natural even if our pick was a little dicey. With their titles, I guess they’d seem like they matched.

As expected of Yuigahama. Her faux-bimbo thing is the real deal. She’s very capable when it comes to planning out things for having a good time and getting people excited.

Yukinoshita nodded appreciatively, then picked up the name sheet. “That sounds like a good idea. And the sports team captains on the red team are…”

“The track club, Ping-Pong club, tennis club…” Meguri nodded thoughtfully as she picked out the relevant information on the reference page.

“And the one who could go head-to-head with Hayama…,” Sagami muttered, running her eyes down the sheet as well. She was also checking everyone’s names.

That was when Yuigahama said, “Oh, Sai-chan is on the red team.”

“T-Totsuka?!” I wasn’t ready for that name.

Ignoring my reaction, Ebina agreed. “Oh-ho-ho. Totsuka did go up against Hayato during the cultural festival, so that might not be a bad ship.”

Don’t say ship. It just makes me want to oppose this idea with everything I have.

“Uh, it can’t be Totsuka…,” I said, somehow barely managing to feign calm.

But Yuigahama tilted her head at me. “Why not?”

It’s not logic. Just imagining Totsuka being targeted by a crowd of boys makes every hair on my body stand on end. Ngh, who decided the team assignments? Was it the Sorting Hat? What if something dangerous were to happen to Totsuka? It just should’ve yelled, Gryffindooooooor!

But honestly, I couldn’t say that; it would be the creepiest thing ever. In fact, even imagining it was already out of line.

And so I made up an appropriate-sounding reason. “Oh, you know. Like, what are we gonna do if Totsuka gets hurt or something? The tennis club is already superweak to begin with.” If Totsuka had to take time off from the club because he got injured from the pole pull-down, then I’d be forced to join the tennis club to fill the vacancy I created… Wait. That wouldn’t be so bad. If Totsuka and I played tennis together, then we might not only get fifteen-love, but fall in love! Or maybe not. But maybe?

While I was groaning to myself and pondering this, Meguri was examining my face with an uncomfortable, strained smile. “Hikigaya, that’s what the girls from the crew are saying, though?”

“Ngh… Y-you’re right.”

I see—so this is what it means to get swept away by your feelings. I am a bastion of calm, and yet even I stoop to Haruka and Yukko’s level when it comes to Totsuka. Totsuka is a fearsome one indeed.

But an argument that comes from emotion is never going to be logical; they won’t get even a third of it. I mean, the ending for Kenshin said so. So then doesn’t that mean that conversely, if you expend triple the love, then it will get across? Oh man, that’s super-logical! I’m a genius!

…I’m a dumbass.

As I was reflecting, Yuigahama said in exasperation, “And you’re worrying too much about it. I mean, Sai-chan is a boy, too.”

“Besides, we will be making the rules stricter and taking safety precautions with this event as well, to prevent that from happening.”

What Yukinoshita was saying was very reasonable, but it also meant that such measures had to be in place to prevent rule-breakers. I really am worried… With such anxieties rising within me, what popped out of my mouth was “But you can’t make any guarantees.”

“H-Hikigaya? Geez!” Meguri chided me, puffing up her cheeks. It kinda made me feel all fluffy-soft inside. Right as Meguri’s Megurin Effect (main use: healing and relaxation, and bestowal of big-sister elemental) calmed me down, Ebina settled the argument.

“And besides, the whole team will be trying to protect the captains, so you don’t have to worry so much.”

…Protect? Me, protecting Totsuka? Me as Totsuka’s knight? I see. I like that. That’s good. Let’s go with that and hit the Like button!

“Well, you have a point,” I said begrudgingly.

Yukinoshita stood up her stack of papers and tapped it against the table to tidy up the loose pages before giving us her conclusion. “Well then, let’s ask Totsuka.”

“Agreed!” Yuigahama cheered.

It seemed no one else was against it, and a smattering of warm applause rang out.

While we were congratulating ourselves, a knock-knock sounded on the door.

Kawasaki had come, as promised.

Now if we could just commit to these Chibattle costumes with Kawasaki’s advising, then we’d have figured out the basics of our pending issue, the two big events.

Now everything was ready.

All right, it’s time to fight back.