CHAPTER II
~Kurokawa’s Coldest Confession~
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As she navigated the labyrinth of corridors, the atmosphere shifted. The noise of the crowd faded as she approached the final hallway—the one lined with the teacher’s staffroom and reserved for more official matters. Here, the energy was different: more restrained, the air tinged with the scent of chalk and polished floors, the footsteps of authority echoing in the background.
Standing at the threshold were her class prefect, Takasago Himari, and the second prefect, Tsukigami Kaito, both positioned in front of Amagi-sensei, their Social Studies teacher. They were both in deep conversation with Amagi-sensei. The atmosphere here was more subdued, the presence of a teacher imposing a sense of order and expectation, underscoring the importance of hierarchy and respect that defined every interaction in the school.
“Ah! There she is!” Himari called out, her voice carrying a mix of relief and urgency that cut through the low hum of the corridor. She hurried to Yuzuki, her expression earnest. “Yuzuki-chan! Where is Ayaka-san’s notebook?”
Yuzuki paused, her brow furrowing at the unfamiliar name. “Who is she?” she asked, her tone polite but edged with confusion.
Kaito stepped forward, his manner precise. “Kisaragi Ayaka—the blue-haired girl in our class.”
Yuzuki shook her head, her response measured. “I don’t know where her notebook is.” She attempted to move past, but Amagi-sensei blocked her path, his stance authoritative. “What do you mean you don’t know?” he demanded, his voice carrying the weight of expectation.
From behind, Ayaka herself appeared, her presence sudden and assertive. “You clearly asked for my notebook during self-study hours,” she declared, her tone accusatory.
Yuzuki’s mind raced. Where did this blue-haired witch come from? She hadn’t noticed her a moment ago. The accusation was sharp, and the eyes of her classmates and teacher were now fixed on her, awaiting her response.
“I—I didn’t,” Yuzuki replied, her voice steady yet firm. “I asked Tsukigami-kun, not you. I swear.” Her words measured, unwilling to accept responsibility for something she did not do.
A heavy silence fell as all eyes shifted to Tsukigami Kaito. He hesitated, then spoke, his voice uncertain. “Uh—yeah. You did ask me, but since my notes weren’t complete, I asked Ayaka-san to give you hers.”
Yuzuki’s response was immediate and firm. “And I never received it.”
Ayaka’s face twisted in indignation.
“You never received it? What nonsense are you spouting? If you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing. That notebook was supposed to be distributed to the other classrooms. Now how am I supposed to do that? Just because of a careless girl who won’t admit her mistake!” Amagi-sensei’s voice rose, the accusation echoing down the corridor.
Yuzuki’s patience was wearing thin. “I never even received the notebook. How can you blame me?”
Sensei’s glare sharpened, but a new voice cut in—deeper, commanding. “Like the sensei said. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable.” Haruki Shiranui, the Student Council President, appeared behind the teacher, his presence drawing a fresh crowd of students. His crew flanked him, amplifying the pressure.
Yuzuki’s frustration boiled. Where did this bastard come from?
“When I’m saying I never EVEN touched her book, how can you blame me for losing it?” Yuzuki’s tone was edged with anger.
Haruki’s expression was cold, his words calculated. “You could have stolen it. Everyone in the school knows Ayaka-san’s handwriting is the prettiest among all.” His hands remained in his pockets, his posture relaxed but his words sharp, the crowd of girls growing as his charisma drew them in.
“So what?” Yuzuki shot back, her voice challenging.
“So what? You could have taken it out of jealousy,” Himari accused, her eyes narrowing.
Yuzuki stared at her, incredulous. “Why would I?”
Ayaka’s voice rose, shrill. “Because your notes are never complete!”
Yuzuki’s disbelief was palpable. “That’s not a reason to steal someone’s notebook.”
Haruki’s tone turned final. “That’s more than enough of a reason. You’re the culprit behind the missing notebook. Now, enough of this—tell us where Ayaka-san’s notebook is.”
“I said, I don’t know,” Yuzuki replied, her voice flat.
Himari stepped forward, her suggestion sharp. “If so, then give us your bag. We’ll check for ourselves.”
“Yes, please!” Ayaka pleaded, desperate.
With a resigned sigh, Yuzuki slipped her bag off her shoulder and handed it to Himari. The prefect opened it, methodically removing each book and placing it back, the crowd holding its breath. Suddenly, a notebook without a cover emerged. Himari turned it over, reading the name written inside.
“Kisaragi Ayaka.”
The words rang out, definitive. The crowd gasped. Yuzuki’s eyes widened in shock. “What?”
She caught a glimpse of Kaito’s face—ashen, guilt-ridden. Then she noticed the faint, satisfied smirk on Himari’s lips. “What an idiot,” Himari mouthed, turning to the crowd and raising the notebook high. “The culprit has been found. The book was in her bag.”
Ayaka lunged for her notebook, clutching it to her chest as if it were a lifeline.
“I knew it all along!” Amagi-sensei declared triumphantly, his face twisted in self-satisfaction as he turned away, muttering curses under his breath.
The assembled students erupted into whispers and the glow of phone screens, capturing every humiliating second.
Haruki stepped forward, his voice cold. “Now, what will you do about your broken and filthy reputation?” His words were a public sentence, the crowd’s judgment heavy in the air.
Yuzuki’s knees buckled. She dropped to the floor, the world spinning around her.
Himari, in a final act of mockery, let her own bag fall to the ground, echoing Yuzuki’s collapse.
How? How did I not see this coming? Yuzuki’s mind raced, teeth gritted, lips bitten raw with frustration and humiliation. She snatched her bag and bolted, pushing through the dense crowd, desperate for escape as the corridor filled with the sound of jeers and the relentless click of cameras.
Behind her, Tsukigami Kaito broke into a run, trying to catch up, but the crowd pressed in, blocking his path. Yuzuki’s figure disappeared down the hall, leaving behind a storm of whispers, accusations, and the indelible stain of a reputation undone.
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Outside, the sky was streaked with the last embers of sunset, the school’s silhouette dark against the gold and violet horizon. Yuzuki staggered to the metal railing at the entrance, her breath ragged, sweat mingling with the blood that now stained her lower lip—a silent testament to how hard she’d bitten down to keep from crying in front of everyone.
She gripped her bag straps until her knuckles blanched, her legs trembling from the relentless sprint—nearly three kilometers of weaving through empty corridors, side exits, and shadowed stairwells. She’d chosen the back route, knowing the main gate would be a gauntlet of jeers and phone cameras. The gamble paid off; she’d escaped the worst of the mob, but the exhaustion was bone-deep.
Bent over, she gasped for air, the metallic tang of blood sharp on her tongue. The world felt muffled, as if she were underwater, her pulse pounding in her ears.
A distant voice cut through the haze. “Yuzuki-san!” Kaito’s figure appeared at the edge of the grounds, breathless and desperate, closing the distance with uneven strides.
He reached her, panting, voice pleading. “Yuzuki—Yuzuki-san, please. Listen to me.”
She didn’t turn. Her hair fell like a curtain, hiding her face, shoulders heaving. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and bitter, each word clipped and precise.
“Is this what you call friendship, Kaito-kun? Really?” She whipped around, eyes blazing with hurt and accusation.
“I THOUGHT BEING FRIENDS MEANT HELPING EACH OTHER, STANDING BY EACH OTHER'S SIDES. BUT I DIDN'T KNOW IT ALSO MEANT BETRAYAL—PUBLIC HUMILIATION IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE SCHOOL!” Her voice cracked, raw with emotion, echoing across the empty grounds.
She spun away, ready to disappear into the twilight, but Kaito caught her arm, his grip trembling. “No, Yuzuki! Please, just listen. I had a reason. I swear—I never meant for any of this to happen. Let me explain—”
She yanked her arm free, her voice icy as she stared over her shoulder. “Don’t call me by my first name. We are nothing to each other now. Goodbye, Tsukigami-kun.”
She walked away, her silhouette dissolving into the deepening dusk.
Kaito’s voice broke, loud enough for everyone lingering near the gate to hear. “Yuzuki-san—I LOVE YOU!”
She froze, just for a heartbeat, the confession hanging in the air. The crowd, sensing drama, held its breath.
She turned, eyes unreadable. “But I don’t.” The words were final, slicing through the silence.
She ran, vanishing into the city’s shadows, leaving Kaito standing alone, red-faced and trembling, as whispers and laughter rippled through the onlookers. The humiliation was complete, and by morning, the story would have countless new headlines ranging from:
Kurokawa’s Coldest Confession Crash: From Accused to Heartbreaker—The Day the “Culprit” Turned Away
The sun slipped below the horizon, and the night swallowed the school, leaving only the echoes of heartbreak and the relentless churn of rumor.
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To be Continued…
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