The silence didn't arrive abruptly it crept in slowly, like a quiet fog slinking over the rows of chairs, brushing past curious faces, then settling in the air like a silent promise: "Something is about to begin."
From backstage the curtain began to stir.
It wasn't yanked open all at once, but moved slowly creaking open like an old door in a horror film, revealing bit by bit the world behind it. A white spotlight from above slanted down, casting three long shadows across the wooden floor. The audience members closest to the stage leaned forward, eyes wide as if trying to decipher a hidden secret.
And then, the curtain fully opened.
Three figures appeared. Or more precisely two people standing upright and one... amorphous object lying to the left of the stage.
A huge, crumpled, brown cardboard box sat there, looking as though it had fallen off a delivery truck at the wrong address. No one had told it to be there, but it was bold, silent, radiating the quiet dignity of an inanimate object entrusted with hiding a trembling creature inside.
Stage right, Ijichi Nijika took a step forward.
Under the spotlight, she shone like a freshly peeled lemon vibrant and cool, carrying the essence of summer itself. She lifted the mic without hesitation, not a trace of fear. In her eyes was a kind of naive but unwavering faith, as if she believed that even if everything fell apart, it could be fixed so long as they started right.
"Hello, everyone!" she said, her voice clear and bright, reaching even the back rows.
"We are Kessoku Band! Thank you so much for coming to our very first show at Starry!"
A smattering of applause followed hesitant, sparse, like the first raindrops tapping on leaves at the beginning of the rainy season. Most of the audience hadn't yet processed what was happening. Their eyes darted across the stage before collectively landing on... the box.
A pause.
No one said anything, but you could feel the shared thought buzzing like a weak Wi-Fi signal: What's with the box? A prop? Some kind of avant-garde performance art? Or... is someone inside?
In the very last row, Izayoi sat with his legs crossed and arms folded. His gaze was fixed on the stage, unblinking, as if observing a living abstract painting titled "The Hesitation of Youth." The corners of his mouth twitched not in amusement or mockery, just quiet observation, like a scientist realizing he's discovered a species of bacteria that plays guitar.
On the far right, Seika Ijichi, the manager, stood with a clipboard in hand, head tilted, eyebrows furrowed. Her eyes didn't leave the box. At last, she muttered dryly:
"Um... who put a trash bin on stage?"
No one answered. But the answer was coming.
Pak!
A sharp crack rang out the snare drum struck like a starting gun at a relay race.
Instantly, the lights shifted to a vivid red so intense that everything else on stage was swallowed in darkness, leaving only the three odd figures illuminated. And then, the music began.
The drums came first fast, urgent, like a racing heartbeat before something big happens.
Then Ryou entered with a steady, deep bass line like footsteps echoing down a long hallway.
And then... the guitar.
A loud "BWAAANG!" shrieked out. Discordant. Piercing. Like a cat getting its tail stepped on while simultaneously trying to strum.
It wasn't an intro. It was a warning.
Inside the box, Hitori Gotou a.k.a. Bocchi sat hunched, hands trembling so violently that her fingers missed the strings. She could hear the drums. She could hear the bass. But to her, everything was spinning, offbeat, slipping beyond the fragile grip of logic.
She bit her lip. Tried to breathe.
"Don't panic, Bocchi... don't panic... You've played this before... You know this song... you do..."
Her fingers pressed down on the fretboard.
A strange chord rang out. Neither major nor minor, just some grotesque hybrid a deformed child of failed jazz and painful rock. Another strum too hard. The string flung out a long "WHEEEEEE" like a ferry horn sobbing in the night rain.
The audience gasped.
Not a "wow!" gasp more like the sound someone makes when they bite into a chili thinking it's a cherry tomato.
Seika nearly dropped her clipboard.
Izayoi raised an eyebrow, tapping his chin thoughtfully, as if debating whether he should intervene before the experiment started emitting smoke.
Nijika kept drumming. She didn't stop. Sweat glistened on her forehead, her smile fixed but her jaw clenched tight.
Ryou... merely shrugged. A sideways glance that said, "Well... it is the first time."
Inside the box, Bocchi shook like the last leaf on a tree during a storm.
"No... this is bad... I'm offbeat... They're going to kick me out of the band... No... they'll kick me out of Tokyo... I'll have to go back home... live in the mountains... make friends with raccoons and start a blog reviewing leaves..."
In a last-ditch effort to "regain her rhythm" Bocchi suddenly stood up forgetting she was still inside the box.
The result: the box tipped over, tumbling across the stage like a wild animal losing its footing.
The auditorium went dead silent.
A trembling hand emerged from the box's flap, clutching the guitar neck. The music stopped entirely. In that moment, Kessoku Band looked less like a band and more like an elementary school rehearsal crossed with a trash-art installation.
And so Bocchi ducked her head even deeper into the box, continuing the rest of the set with the quiet despair of someone whose world had cracked just a little.
Ryou plucked a final closing note in the midst of an awkward silence.
Nijika took a deep breath, then pounded out three rapid drum beats like the rhythm of a heart gone erratic. Her smile twisted awkwardly as she looked out at the audience:
"Th... thank you all for listening."
Inside the box, Hitori sat slumped forward, her hand resting on the guitar as if she'd just finished writing her will. Her eyes stared wide into the darkness around her, as though she had just crossed the line between life and death.
Off in the corner, Izayoi let out a soft chuckle and shook his head. But his eyes weren't mocking they simply held a quiet recognition. He knew, even if there were mistakes, Bocchi had just taken her first step past one of her fears.
The performance was over.
The final sounds the last strum from Ryou and Nijika's three urgent beats—dissolved like mist beneath the dimming stage lights. It wasn't a triumphant ending. There were no cheers, no phone flashlights lighting up the room. Just a smattering of polite applause, the kind people give... out of respect for effort.
The stage curtain closed. A soft click echoed a final period.
Behind the thick fabric, the outside world faded away, leaving only the half-lit backstage void where no one moved.
No one said a word.
The air was so thick it felt like you could slice it into pieces and seal it in vacuum packs.
It wasn't the silence of calm after victory. It was the kind where everyone knew something close to disaster had just happened but no one wanted to be the first to admit it.
The audience began to file out. Footsteps creaked against the wooden floor. Doors opened and shut, mingling with the murmured chatter:
"Are they a new group?"
"Kinda cute... especially the box."
"First time I've seen installation art mixed with live music."
"Maybe it's an experimental style..."
Each passing murmur fluttered against the backstage wall like a gentle breeze—not harsh enough to tear apart anyone's pride, but leaving wrinkles that wouldn't smooth out easily.
The final door closed. Starry was quiet now, drained of energy. Only the warm-toned lights remained, casting a soft, soothing glow.
In the practice room behind the stage, the four of them entered one by one.
Nijika led the way. Her steps weren't as bold as they'd been before the show slower, thoughtful. Ryou followed, shoulders slightly slouched, bass still strapped to her back like a knight returning from battle... though she couldn't remember striking a single blow. Izayoi came in last, hands in his pockets, walking as if the whole concert had just been an interesting essay assignment.
And finally
The box.
Or more precisely, the box that walked, still hunched and dragging along behind them, scraping softly against the floor: scrape... scrape... scrape...
No one said anything for the first few seconds.
The air felt heavy, like waterlogged fog.
Nijika crossed her arms and exhaled. Not the angry kind of sigh more like the kind of breath someone takes when they understand some things just can't be rushed.
"...A lot of mistakes" she said. Honest and blunt, but gentle, like talking to a child.
"We'll need more practice before next time."
Ryou pulled out a chair and sat down, one leg crossed over the other, tapping her fingers absently on her thigh, as if trying to reset her inner balance.
"That intro part... was pretty bad too" she said in her usual flat tone. No judgment. Just fact.
Izayoi leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. His slight smile was like someone who had just finished watching a B-grade horror movie with a controversial ending. He said nothing, eyes still fixed on the trembling box in the corner.
Suddenly, a noise.
A small clatter then a rustle.
Something began to crawl out of the box.
Its movements matched every description of an urban legend ghost.
Head down, pink hair hanging limp, back bent like it had been cursed. Two hands pressed to the floor as it crawled forward inch by inch like a zombie just thawed from a freezer. The room dropped a degree colder.
"Aaaaaaa!!" Nijika screamed, almost dropping her drumsticks in shock.
Ryou blinked slowly and exhaled. "Definitely smells like a living soul's decay..."
Izayoi said nothing. Chin resting on his hand, his eyes sparkled as if wondering: "Is this... evolution? Or devolution?"
The creature let out a groan...
Soft, like the creak of an old door.
"I... I have something to say..."
"B-Bocchi-chan? Is that you?! Oh my god, I seriously thought we had a ghost..." Nijika clutched her chest, trying to steady her heart.
Ryou remained unbothered. "Next time, try standing up when exiting the box. Not horror movie-style, please."
Hitori slowly raised her head.
Her pink hair parted, revealing a face flushed red all the way to her ears.
But in her trembling eyes was a faint flicker of light. Not panic.
Something closer to... resolve?
"B-before the next performance..."
Her voice wavered, but each word dropped like pebbles down a cliff unable to be taken back.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
"I... I'll try... to say hi to my classmates..."
Silence. Time stopped for five seconds.
Then ...Nijika smiled.
A gentle smile, like the first crisp morning of early autumn—cool, but full of hope.
"Wow, Bocchi-chan... you've really grown."
Ryou gave a small nod. "That's a big step. Not bad."
Izayoi raised an eyebrow. His smile deepened just slightly.
But he said nothing just watched Bocchi, like observing the sprout of a brand-new bud.
The atmosphere in the room lightened. It was as if someone had opened a window to let the breeze in, sweeping away the stifling air left behind by the performance. Though tired, everyone seemed to have regained their breath to some extent. And then, as if shaking off all worries, Nijika burst out laughing, her eyes sparkling brightly.
"Alright!" she clapped her hands loudly, the sharp sound cracking through the room like a firecracker.
"Now it's time to throw a party to welcome our two new members, Bocchi and Izayoi, into Kessoku Band! And let's have a group meeting while we're at it!"
Her declaration was like a firework lighting up the dark night brilliant, but also startling to the exhausted souls in the room. Ryou, legs crossed on an old chair with her wrinkled shirt sleeve drooping, squinted at Nijika as if the girl had just said something that defied the natural course of human history.
She blinked, then let out a long, slow yawn as though it drained the last bit of energy from her body.
"Sorry... I'm way too sleepy..."
She said this as she leaned her head back, her short hair falling like a curtain of jet black. That single sentence, with nothing more, sealed away any remaining hope for an intense, fired-up band meeting.
From under the table, there was a faint rustling sound like summer insects crawling across old paper. Hitori or rather, Bocchi slowly raised her head, like a creature waking after a century-long hibernation. Her pink hair was a mess, and her eyes peeked out from behind her bangs like a faint flashlight flickering in the dark.
"I talked... a bit too much today..." she mumbled, her voice soft as wind slipping through a crack in the door.
"...So I'm tired too... I-I'd like to head home now..."
Nijika suddenly stood up as if ambushed. Her golden eyes widened and she practically shouted:
"What?! No! No way!"
She turned to Izayoi like she was seeking help hoping that a fair-minded judge might restore justice for a leader being deserted by her juniors.
"What about you, Izayoi-kun?"
Izayoi still leaning against the wall like a living statue, didn't answer right away. He blinked slowly, arms crossed as if contemplating whether to betray or rescue Nijika's heartfelt efforts.
"I want to go home too."
He finally said, voice indifferent.
"My main goal is just to observe Bocchi's growth. Parties aren't on my schedule."
A clean stab. Bloodless, but lethal.
Under the pale yellow fluorescent light, the practice room just moments ago filled with the scent of sweat and fatigue now felt recharged by the energy of a human-shaped portable battery named Ijichi Nijika.
The blonde girl with the red ribbon spun around so abruptly that the gust from her outfit brushed past Hitori's face, startling her into retreating her head. With hands on her hips, standing firm like a lightning rod, Nijika's golden eyes burned like headlights in the night as she stared down the remaining three with a gaze shaped like bullets bullets that didn't wound the body but pierced deeply into one's sense of guilt.
"Hold it right there!"
Her voice rang out clearly, filled with righteousness, like a delegate in a national student council debate.
"Is everyone seriously planning to run off?!"
Ryou, half-asleep with her bag clutched like a body pillow, just blinked at Nijika, unwilling to comment. Meanwhile, from behind the drink table, Hitori peeked out like a cautious turtle. Her eyes blinked and then she spoke weakly, like a soul that had just left its shell:
"But... senpai... I'm about to evaporate..."
Her lament sounded like the final whisper of a girl who had just used up her entire word count for the day. But it didn't faze Nijika in the slightest.
"No 'buts' or 'ifs'!" Nijika declared, jabbing a finger toward the ceiling as though questioning the heavens.
"Our name is Kessoku Band the Band of Unity! If we don't stay and celebrate together, what kind of unity is that?!"
Izayoi, who had been calmly observing the drama unfold like an audience member at a play, followed the direction of Nijika's pointing finger. He looked up at the ceiling, where an old ceiling fan spun lazily next to a faded water stain from some long-forgotten rain.
After a brief, artistic pause, he raised an eyebrow.
"That's... a pretty solid argument."
He pushed himself off the wall and stepped into the center of the room with a slow, deliberate gait. Then, as if playfully mocking, he struck the exact same pose as Nijika hands on hips, elbow angle and knee height replicated with exaggerated precision, as though rehearsed in front of a mirror.
"Alright then, Miss Nijika" he said in a calm, low voice, though his eyes twinkled with amusement.
"Since we've hit a disagreement, let's resolve this in the most civilized and intellectual way possible: with a contest."
"The... a game?" Nijika tilted her head, a lock of hair falling over her eye. Her curiosity spiked visibly, like a puppy hearing the crinkle of a snack bag.
"Yes." Izayoi nodded.
"A fair duel: if you win, we'll stay and have the party. But if I win, the whole band gets to go home no guilt, no dirty looks. Freedom, democracy and civility."
Ryou, now with her backpack off and one leg casually thrown over a chair, looked interested, like she was tuning in to a reality show.
"Sounds good. I support it."
Hitori, after a few moments of inner turmoil, finally dropped to the floor like a kindergartener during storytime. She raised her hand weakly, as if gravity itself were trying to drag it back down.
"I... I'm with Izayoi..."
Nijika clenched her teeth not from anger, but from pressure. She was facing the most dreadful enemy of all: not demons, not laziness... but the overwhelming consensus of relaxed majority rule.
"Fine!" she hissed.
"I'm not afraid! What's the game?!"
Izayoi grinned, a sharp, cunning smile like someone who had been laying a trap for a long time. He stepped forward, pulling out a plastic chair and sitting down as gracefully as the host of a quiz show built on wits and trickery. He clasped his hands together, chin resting on his index finger, eyes focused in ceremonial concentration.
"Welcome to the game of intellect: 'Who's the Liar?' A battle of deduction, psychology, and... comedy."
From the backpack on the table, he pulled out a stack of sticky notes and two pens like he had prepared for this exact moment long ago. No one asked why a first-year student was carrying party-game equipment in his bag; maybe everyone had already accepted that Izayoi was just that kind of person.
"Rules are simple" he said nonchalantly, like a veteran MC.
"Two players, three rounds. In each round, write three facts about yourself two truths and one lie. The opponent has to guess the fake. Guess right, win the round. First to win two out of three wins the whole thing."
Ryou now sat with legs crossed, both hands resting on her knees like a boxing referee. She gave a nod of approval.
"Sounds fun. I'll be the judge."
Hitori inched closer to the table, eyes sparkling like freshly replaced motorcycle headlights.
"I... I want to observe and learn too..."
Nijika gripped her pen tightly. It clicked with a sharp snap, like the sound of her challenged resolve cracking under pressure.
"Alright then! Let's start!"
Izayoi gestured casually:
"First question who goes first? Out of courtesy, I'll let you lead, Nijika-senpai."
Nijika flipped her hair proudly, picked up the first sticky note, and began writing.
The room fell into silence. Not a tired silence, but the tense stillness of an audience waiting for the opening act of a mental comedy. These first moments of "battle" would surely become legend in the oral history of Kessoku Band not because of the intensity, but because it all began with noble intentions of celebration... and spiraled into a lying contest.
On one side was Ijichi Nijika, the unofficial but self-proclaimed "big sis" of Kessoku Band, now crouched beside an old speaker, scribbling furiously as if drafting a thesis on music strategy. Her face was comically serious, lips pressed into a line, eyebrows furrowed. The sticky note in her hand bore three sharp lines of text, written with the precision of a razor. No longer a note it was the declaration that would determine who ruled the night.
On the other side sat Sakamaki Izayoi... a genius first-year with a love for toying with logic and nonsense, legs crossed on a crumpled plastic chair, shoulder against the wall like he was at a post-performance interview. Chin in hand, his eyes gleamed like a kid about to open their favorite gacha toy. A lazy, half-smug, half-amused smile curled on his lips clearly enjoying the show he himself had produced.
In between were the neutral spectators: Ryou and Hitori.
Ryou, despite being the designated "referee," sat with arms crossed like a prime-time detective show viewer. Her voice rang out flat and precise, like the morning announcements at a military school:
"3... 2... 1... Nijika, state your three opening facts."
Nijika inhaled deeply a breath full of resolve like "let me salvage this band's honor." She reached up to adjust the red ribbon at her collar, a habitual gesture she always did before serious speeches. Then she looked up, eyes sparkling with determination, and read clearly, as if giving a ceremonial address:
"One: I once performed at an outdoor stadium during a summer festival."
"Whoa, that's amazing!" Hitori exclaimed, eyes twinkling with starlight. Her hand froze mid-air, a crunchy snack paused between dimensions.
"It must've been packed..."
Nijika nodded slightly, pride glowing off her like a self-illuminating medal. But she wasn't finished.
"Two: I like eating pickled cucumbers for breakfast."
Ryou squinted.
"That... doesn't really fit the breakfast vibe..."
Izayoi gave a subtle, unreadable smile, while Hitori fiddled with a snack stuck to her shirt, whispering:
"Pickled vegetables in the morning, huh..."
Nijika raised three fingers and continued.
"And three: I'm afraid of cockroaches."
One second of silence. As if the sound in the room had just been sucked out by an emotional vacuum cleaner.
Then suddenly, Izayoi chuckled. A light laugh, yet it rang like a temple bell... heralding an approaching storm.
"Oh?" He tilted his head, eyes sparkling.
"Not bad. Those three all sound pretty believable."
Nijika grinned, one hand on her hip like she was riding a winning streak.
"I spent a whole ten minutes picking those!"
Hitori muttered, "You wrote them in one minute..."
Ryou carefully typed all three into her phone, while Izayoi rested his chin on his hand, eyes scrutinizing the story like a microscope dissecting outer layers.
"Alright" he said, his voice low and calm, yet loud like a drum marking the hour.
"I'm guessing the lie is... 'I'm afraid of cockroaches.'"
"Wha...?!" Nijika flinched.
"That's it?! No follow-up questions?"
Izayoi didn't answer immediately. He sat upright, eyes fixed on Nijika, his voice calm like a professor about to deliver a philosophical lecture:
"The reason is simple. When Bocchi first crawled into the cardboard box to perform, you were the one standing closest to her."
Hitori, munching on a snack, froze mid-bite, her face turning red as if she'd just been called to the board to answer a question.
"S-Sorry for my odd behavior back then..."
Izayoi continued, ignoring the little confession:
"That box looked, from afar, exactly like a giant cockroach: brown, old, even with crease lines that looked like antennae.
Someone afraid of cockroaches wouldn't look at something like that and cheer calmly."
"And when you saw Bocchi go into that cardboard box, you showed no sign of fear that a cockroach might crawl out.
Someone truly scared of roaches would've reacted much more strongly."
Ryou gave a small nod. "That's some solid analysis."
Hitori blinked. "How can you... notice details like that..."
Nijika remained stunned. She pointed a trembling finger at the paper.
"Caught... on the first try...?"
Hitori stared at her genius friend and whispered:
"Izayoi... you're seriously... scarily smart..."
Izayoi shrugged, a mischievous gleam in his eye:
"Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment."
No one noticed the ceiling light flicker, as if the room itself agreed with that perfectly reasoned and extraordinary deduction.
The air around the three actually four if you counted Hitori, who was curled up tight like an overstretched guitar string ready to snap at the slightest touch felt taut.
Sakamaki Izayoi sat with nonchalant poise, one leg casually crossed over the other, chin in hand like a nobleman admiring fine art.
His violet eyes glimmered mysteriously under the warm, dim lights. When he glanced over at Nijika, the corners of his lips curled in amusement, half readying his next move, half savoring the expression of his opponent before unleashing the next storm of logic.
"Well then... it's my turn" he said gently, as if asking for another cup of tea, not launching a psychological strike.
Izayoi took the pen Nijika passed him a cheap ballpoint with a chewed capbut in his hand, the ink flowed smoothly, like a brush from a classical Japanese calligrapher.
Every stroke seemed intentional, as if hiding layers of meaning and silent calculation.
After just a few seconds, he set the pen down and raised his head, arching an eyebrow like a professor preparing to read a declaration.
He began reading, his tone calm, articulation clear, and his cadence precise, each sentence a melody teasing the listeners' emotions.
"1. I've learned to play at least fifty instruments in two weeks."
"Huh..." Nijika let out a breath.
In Hitori's head, something went pfft. She was drinking water and nearly spat it out. Fifty?! Two weeks?! Was he grown in a special lab or something?
"2. I was banned from school chess tournaments in middle school because I won too much and annoyed the teachers."
Ryou glanced at Izayoi. "That sounds straight out of a shounen manga."
"3. I once fell asleep during an important exam and almost got expelled."
The third statement landed like a subtle punch ordinary on the surface, but precisely because it was so normal, the other three glanced at one another. No one said a word, but their eyes all sparked with the same enormous question mark.
Nijika crossed her arms, one hand on her hip like a disciplinary captain about to interrogate a delinquent.
"Alright, let me think."
Izayoi tilted his head, watching as though enjoying a fascinating performance. His eyes now resembled a detective's magnifying glass more than a freshman's gaze.
And Hitori? Still on the floor, eyes darting like she was watching a high-speed tennis match.
She was still eating snacks, but her mind was clearly elsewhere.
Nijika started analyzing aloud, her voice slow, tinged with suspicion, yet unable to hide her curiosity.
"The first one... fifty instruments in two weeks sounds like a dream.
But I've seen you play guitar, bass, keyboard, drums... and even ukulele during break..."
Izayoi nodded humbly:
"I learn fast."
"Yeah, no kidding."
She moved to the second.
"Banned from chess because you won too much... classic anime character stuff.
But I guess not entirely implausible."
Ryou muttered, sharp and quiet:
"I think it's already implausible."
Finally, Nijika narrowed her eyes at the third line.
"Falling asleep in an exam and not getting expelled? Koudo Ikusei is strict.
And you don't look like the kind of person who'd oversleep..."
Izayoi smiled mysteriously.
"The one that seems the most plausible... could be the trap."
"I know that!" Nijika snapped lightly, offended at being taught her own game.
She took a deep breath, eyes closed, as if summoning the intuition of the band spirits to assist her.
"I choose... number three. The 'falling asleep during an exam' one is the lie!"
A hush fell over the room like velvet curtains closing after the final act of a play. All eyes even Hitori's turned to Izayoi.
He raised a hand to his forehead, feigning fatigue, his voice drawn out like a tragedian delivering the last line of a Greek play.
"...But you're wrong."
Nijika's eyes widened. "What?!"
Izayoi spoke slowly, as if revealing a small secret everyone should know but no one dared to ask.
"The lie was... I was banned from chess tournaments for winning too much."
Ryou blinked. "Wait... so you really did compete in chess tournaments in middle school?"
Izayoi smiled, tilting his head slightly as if making casual conversation though something in his tone seemed deliberately evasive.
"...I never went to middle school."
Silence swept across the room. Not the kind caused by a dropped glass or an awkward pause it was the perfect quiet born from collective disbelief.
Hitori nearly stopped chewing her snack mid-bite.
Ryou frowned. "What do you mean... never went to middle school?"
Izayoi held his smile but didn't answer right away. His gaze drifted toward an undefined point ahead, as if looking through the wall into some faraway, more complicated place.
"...That's a secret for now" he said, voice as light as the wind.
"When the time comes, I'll tell you."
Nijika spoke, her eyes narrowing.
"You said you competed in chess but never went to middle school? What's that supposed to mean?"
Izayoi only shrugged, his smile tightening into something more elusive.
"Not everything can be explained simply. Trust me when people aren't ready to know, knowing won't help them anyway."
Ryou murmured.
"Mysterious... like the protagonist of some isekai light novel."
Hitori trembled like an autumn leaf.
"I... I'm in a band with someone who... never went to middle school? I failed PE in middle school..."
Izayoi leaned back, hands behind his head, voice casual like commenting on the weather:
"As for falling asleep during the exam, I actually did set the alarm wrong and nearly arrived late. But I made it just in time. And the chess thing like I said, I was never banned... because I never actually competed in any school chess tournament."
Nijika was so mad she threw her hands into the air.
"That's semantic fraud! Words need ethics too, you know?!"
Izayoi shrugged again, his voice breezy like early autumn wind.
"I only followed the rules of the game."
Ryou chuckled softly as she pulled out her phone to update the score.
"Current score: 1 - 0, in favor of Sakamaki Izayoi."
No one said anything for a few seconds. Only the quiet crunching of Hitori's snacks could be heard like the ticking of a clock in a high-stakes political negotiation.
Inside Hitori's head, only one sentence echoed:
"I feel like I just watched a psychological poker match... and understood none of it."
She suddenly felt like a true "empty barrel"... except the emptiness was in her IQ.