Chapter 22: The School Board’s Intervention

  Scene 1 – The Last Straw (Probably Not Actually the Last)

  There’s a specific kind of silence that only happens when people are really, truly done with your nonsense.

  It’s not angry. It’s not disappointed. It’s just… exhausted.

  That was the silence I walked into when I entered the principal’s office Monday morning.

  No greeting.

  No sarcastic remarks.

  Just Principal Nakagawa sitting at her desk with the emotional expression of a cold cup of coffee. Behind her stood four members of the school board. One of them was reading a report upside down. Another was gripping a clipboard like it was the only thing keeping him from screaming.

  And beside them?

  Reina.

  Looking confused.

  And furious.

  And maybe a little… conflicted?

  But mostly furious.

  “You,” the principal said, her voice low and tired, “have had a week.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” I muttered.

  “Multiple on-campus fights,” she continued, ticking off points like she was reading a grocery list of crimes. “Three false alarms, a duel, the unauthorized formation of a ‘Council of True Heir Supporters,’ and an engagement flier that somehow made it into the school newsletter.”

  “Okay, that one wasn’t my fault.”

  “You’re pictured holding roses,” she deadpanned.

  “Stolen roses! From the gardening club! Under protest!”

  Reina pinched the bridge of her nose. “Why do you say things like that out loud?”

  “I panic when people wear suits.”

  The school board murmured among themselves. One of them—a man with the eyebrows of someone who’d seen war—leaned forward.

  “We believe,” he said, “that Mr. Sakamoto poses a disruption to the educational environment.”

  Oh no.

  There it was.

  The word.

  Disruption.

  Worse than “troublemaker.”

  Worse than “instigator.”

  Almost as bad as “class clown with a cult following.”

  “We’re recommending expulsion,” another board member added. “Effective immediately.”

  I forgot how to swallow.

  “This is ridiculous,” Reina said suddenly.

  Everyone turned to her.

  Even me.

  She blinked, as if realizing what she’d just said.

  “I—I mean—he’s dumb, obviously, and he makes terrible decisions, and his face is just asking for detention, but—expulsion? That’s a bit extreme.”

  “You were just complaining that he turned the gym into a bloodsport arena,” said one board member.

  “I was,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I want him gone.”

  That earned a few raised eyebrows.

  I looked at her.

  She looked at the ceiling like she regretted everything.

  “Look,” she added, “he’s not dangerous. He’s just… Kenji. Which is its own kind of disaster, but not a criminal one.”

  I opened my mouth to say thank you, but she shot me a glare that screamed “I will end you if you say a word.”

  So I smiled. Quietly.

  Principal Nakagawa sighed. “Regardless, the damage to the school’s reputation—”

  And that’s when the door opened.

  Smooth. Quiet.

  Like doom entering in a custom-tailored suit.

  Genzo Sakamoto stepped into the room.

  And every adult in the office?

  Went silent.

  One board member knocked over a cup of pens.

  Another adjusted their tie three times in five seconds.

  The man with the war-eyebrows suddenly looked like he was hoping for active combat instead.

  “Apologies,” Genzo said. “I was in the area. Thought I’d drop by. I heard my son was in trouble.”

  He said it so pleasantly.

  Like we were discussing algebra scores, not whether I’d be publicly executed by academic protocol.

  “Sir Sakamoto,” the principal said, rising from her chair so fast it squeaked. “We were just—ah—reviewing Mr. Sakamoto’s unique impact on the school.”

  Genzo glanced around.

  Smiled politely.

  And then sat down in the only empty chair in the room—my chair.

  I remained standing.

  Because I didn’t dare do anything else.

  Genzo folded his hands.

  “Well,” he said, “I trust that my son’s situation is being handled… appropriately.”

  The school board members looked at each other.

  Then at me.

  Then back at Genzo.

  And like magic, the entire mood of the room shifted from “he’s expelled” to “maybe this is all just a misunderstanding.”

  “We—of course—we want what’s best for the student body,” one of them said.

  “Yes,” another added. “This is… nuanced. Very nuanced.”

  “I love nuance,” Genzo said pleasantly.

  And just like that, I wasn’t expelled.

  I also wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

  Scene 2 – Reprieve (and Regret)

  The second the meeting was over, the room cleared out like someone had pulled a fire alarm only the adults could hear.

  School board members practically tripped over each other to escape. One of them shook Genzo’s hand twice. Another bowed so low he might’ve dislocated something.

  Reina was the last to leave, shooting me a look that was either “You owe me” or “I hate you slightly less today.” Honestly, it was hard to tell.

  And then it was just me and Genzo.

  Alone.

  In the quiet hum of the principal’s office.

  I cleared my throat. “So… thanks for that.”

  Genzo didn’t look at me.

  Instead, he reached over to straighten a stack of papers on the principal’s desk. Calmly. Methodically. Like the fate of my academic career hadn’t just been saved by sheer intimidation.

  “Your situation is becoming… complicated,” he said at last.

  “You think?”

  He raised an eyebrow.

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  “I mean,” I added quickly, “respectfully.”

  He finally looked at me. “Rumors. Gossip. Rival claims to your title.”

  “My what now?”

  He ignored me. “There are forces moving, Kenji. You need to be careful who you trust.”

  “Pretty sure that ship has already exploded and sunk.”

  He stood and walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back.

  “You remind me of your brother,” he said quietly.

  I froze.

  “Ryuji?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  A long pause.

  Then: “Not everything is what it seems.”

  Which is exactly the kind of sentence people say before someone gets thrown off a cliff.

  Genzo turned back to me with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Take care of yourself, son.”

  He walked out, leaving me alone with a chair that still felt warm from doom.

  I slumped into it.

  Tried to breathe.

  Tried to think.

  Instead, I stared at the floor and let my brain spiral.

  He knew.

  He had to.

  There was no way Genzo didn’t know I wasn’t Ryuji.

  So why wasn’t he saying anything?

  Why play along?

  Why help me?

  Before I could puzzle it out, the door cracked open again.

  Takashi leaned in.

  “Still alive?” he asked, sounding disappointed.

  “Barely.”

  “Too bad. I had five bucks on ‘accidental defenestration.’”

  I blinked. “You were gambling on my death?”

  “Don’t take it personally. It was a high-risk, high-reward situation.”

  He slipped into the room like he belonged there (he didn’t) and leaned on the wall.

  “What do you want?” I asked, too tired to panic.

  He held up his phone.

  “I just made a call,” he said. “Everything’s in motion now.”

  I stared at him.

  “Motion for what?”

  He grinned.

  “The final piece is almost in place.”

  Then he turned and walked away, whistling some creepy upbeat tune that definitely belonged in a villain’s playlist.

  And me?

  I sat there.

  Staring.

  Wondering if I’d just survived a disaster or stepped into the next one.

  Scene 3 – Reina’s Problem (And It’s Definitely Kenji)

  Reina stormed down the hallway like she was late for a meeting with vengeance.

  Which, in a way, she was.

  Because her entire day had just been hijacked by him.

  Kenji Sakamoto.

  Disaster incarnate. Walking chaos. Human stress headache.

  And yet… here she was. Defending him. Again.

  She didn’t even like him. At least, she didn’t think she did.

  Sure, he was kind of funny in that panicked-weasel sort of way. And, okay, sometimes he said things that were accidentally thoughtful. And, fine, he maybe had a weirdly decent jawline if you caught him in the right lighting. But that didn’t mean anything.

  Right?

  “Ugh,” she muttered.

  A group of first-years scattered at her tone like pigeons.

  She made a sharp turn and stopped at the drinking fountain, splashing water on her face. When she looked up, her reflection stared back with the exact same expression she always wore when something was complicated.

  This was not how student council presidents were supposed to spend their afternoon.

  She wasn’t supposed to be involved in school-wide gang politics, or referee rooftop marriage proposals, or secretly argue in front of school boards to protect the boy who’d ruined her calendar, schedule, and possibly her life.

  So why had she done it?

  Why had she spoken up?

  Why did she care?

  Before she could answer any of those questions, someone spoke behind her.

  “You’re catching feelings.”

  She spun.

  Takashi stood there, holding a bag of chips like he hadn’t just dropped a conversational bomb.

  “I am not,” she snapped.

  He raised a chip to his mouth. “You defended him. In a meeting. With adults. That’s basically a confession.”

  “I didn’t want him to get expelled. That doesn’t mean I like him.”

  “Sure,” Takashi said, chewing.

  “Stop smiling like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you just watched the plot twist in your favorite drama.”

  Takashi shrugged. “Look, I’m not judging. I’m just saying, if you’re going to fall for a walking disaster, at least make sure he doesn’t have a twin brother plotting his downfall.”

  Reina froze. “What did you say?”

  Takashi winked. “Oops. Gotta go.”

  He vanished down the stairs, leaving her standing alone, brain spinning.

  Twin brother?

  She hadn’t said anything about Ryuji.

  No one had.

  But now that she thought about it… she had seen something weird.

  That old class photo on the bulletin board.

  Two boys. Identical.

  One circled in red.

  The memory hit her like a caffeine jolt. That wasn’t just a prank. That was a message.

  And it wasn’t for the students.

  It was for her.

  She turned slowly toward the upper floor.

  There were questions now.

  Big ones.

  And whether she liked it or not, she needed answers.

  Even if it meant dealing with him again.

  Scene 4 – Identity Crisis: Now with Extra Despair

  I spent the rest of the day in a fog of stress-induced memory loss.

  I’m pretty sure I attended math class.

  I’m reasonably confident I didn’t commit a felony between third and sixth period.

  But mostly, I just existed.

  Floated.

  Haunted the school halls like a ghost with a caffeine addiction and too many enemies.

  Everyone was looking at me differently now.

  The whispers weren’t just about Akari’s “Wedding is Canceled” drama anymore.

  They were sharper.

  Colder.

  Like students were trying to figure out who I really was—and no one, including me, had the answer.

  I reached my locker and turned the dial.

  Nothing.

  I frowned.

  Tried again.

  Still nothing.

  Then I noticed the tape.

  Someone had sealed the lock shut with neon-orange electrical tape.

  Written across it in bold black marker:

  “IMPOSTORS GET WHAT’S COMING.”

  I took a step back. My heart was in my throat. Or maybe my shoe. Honestly, it had left the building.

  Tetsuya appeared beside me like a caffeinated ninja. “Boss.”

  I jumped. “Do not sneak up on me like that when I’m having an existential breakdown!”

  He peeled the tape off, calm as ever, then handed me a note.

  Another one.

  Because that’s my life now: a teenage mob boss with a pen-pal nemesis.

  This one read:

  “Tick-tock. Are you tired of lying yet?”

  I looked around the hallway.

  Normal students, normal chaos, normal weirdness.

  But somewhere in that crowd?

  Ryuji.

  He was here.

  He was watching.

  “I am not okay,” I muttered.

  Tetsuya handed me a juice box. “Electrolytes help with panic.”

  “I don’t think pineapple-cucumber fusion is going to cure what’s happening to me, Tetsuya.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  I sipped it anyway.

  Not because I believed him.

  But because I had absolutely nothing else to cling to.

  That’s when Mr. Yamada, our history teacher and part-time sad man, appeared around the corner. His hair looked like it had given up days ago.

  He blinked at me. “Sakamoto.”

  I braced myself. “Yes?”

  “I heard about the… situation.”

  “The one where I might be replaced by my long-lost evil twin?”

  “...The one where you might be involved in illegal campus activity,” he clarified, blinking slowly.

  “Oh. Right. That one.”

  He handed me a stack of makeup quizzes. “Just… try not to get expelled before midterms, okay?”

  “Can’t promise anything.”

  He sighed. “Didn’t think so.”

  Then he walked away, muttering something about early retirement and beach huts.

  I turned back to Tetsuya.

  “Any good news?”

  He nodded.

  “Someone hacked the intercom and changed the school bell to dramatic opera music.”

  “That’s your definition of good?”

  “Well, it’s funny.”

  I sighed and leaned against my locker, staring at the ceiling.

  “Tell me honestly,” I said. “Do you think people would still follow me if they knew the truth?”

  Tetsuya was quiet for a second.

  Then he said, “Probably not.”

  I blinked.

  “Wow. Brutal.”

  He shrugged. “But you’re still here. Still standing. That means something.”

  I stared at him.

  “Are you… trying to be inspirational?”

  “I’ve been watching a lot of sports anime.”

  “Ah.”

  A long pause.

  Then the opera bell rang.

  Loud. Dramatic. Very on-brand.

  I groaned. “Let’s just get through the day without another coup attempt.”

  Tetsuya cracked his knuckles. “Can’t make promises.”

  Scene 5 – The Man in the Wrong Hallway

  Seventh period was canceled.

  Not rescheduled.

  Not postponed.

  Just… canceled.

  The PA system crackled to life and announced it like a weather warning. No explanation, no apology—just a flat: “All students are dismissed for the day. Please proceed in an orderly fashion.”

  Which, naturally, caused a stampede.

  I stood in the hallway watching the chaos with the exhausted resignation of a man too tired to care if he got trampled.

  Tetsuya appeared beside me, arms crossed. “Suspicious, right?”

  “What gave it away? The sudden dismissal? Or the fact that every teacher in the building is currently pretending they don’t know what a student is?”

  “Both.”

  We waited until the hallway thinned. The school had that weird, quiet atmosphere it only got during fire drills and major scandals—eerily still, like the building was holding its breath.

  That’s when I saw him again.

  The “teacher.”

  Same guy from before.

  Too clean. Too stiff. Too… unbothered.

  He stood at the far end of the hall, pretending to read a clipboard.

  No students around.

  No reason to be there.

  He was watching.

  No—studying.

  I nudged Tetsuya. “That’s him.”

  “The substitute?”

  “Fake substitute,” I corrected.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Looking for someone.”

  We watched.

  He adjusted his glasses, then started walking slowly down the hall—measured steps, too smooth. His eyes skimmed every classroom door. Not reading the names. Just… mapping.

  “He’s casing the place,” Tetsuya muttered. “Like someone planning a break-in.”

  “Or a takeover,” I whispered.

  The man stopped outside Classroom 2-B.

  My classroom.

  He glanced at the window.

  Then he smiled.

  That smile didn’t belong in a school.

  That was a boardroom assassination kind of smile.

  Or a “don’t scream, it’ll be over soon” smile.

  I stepped back.

  And he looked directly at me.

  From all the way down the hallway.

  No hesitation.

  No question.

  Just locked-on eye contact.

  Like he knew.

  Tetsuya stiffened beside me. “We should go.”

  “Yup.”

  We ducked around the corner fast.

  Took the long way around. Didn’t stop until we were outside by the back fence, breathing hard.

  “You think he’s with Ryuji?” I asked.

  Tetsuya shook his head. “If he is, we’re screwed. If he’s not? We’re still screwed.”

  I groaned. “I hate being the center of mysterious conspiracies. I liked it better when my biggest problem was gym class.”

  “Too late now, Boss.”

  He handed me another juice box.

  This one was apple.

  “Reinforcements?”

  “Emotional support,” he nodded.

  I sipped in silence, staring out at the overgrown track field.

  And for the first time in a while, the whole Yakuza-kingpin-mistaken-identity thing didn’t feel like a comedy anymore.

  It felt like I was being hunted.

  Scene 6 – The Eye of the Storm (And It's Staring at Me)

  The sun was setting as I walked home.

  Which sounds poetic—except I wasn’t walking so much as speed-limping, and the sunset looked less like a postcard and more like a final boss intro screen.

  Every footstep echoed with that growing voice in my head that whispered:

  He’s here.

  He’s watching.

  Tick-tock, fake prince.

  I turned the last corner toward my neighborhood and immediately froze.

  There, parked across the street from my house, was a black car.

  Tinted windows.

  Engine running.

  No one inside.

  No one visible, anyway.

  I didn’t move.

  Didn’t breathe.

  Until Tetsuya stepped up beside me again, holding a plastic bag of melon bread like we hadn’t just narrowly avoided a hallway showdown with a possible assassin.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “Creepy car wasn’t there this morning.”

  “Nope.”

  He eyed it. “You want me to go poke it?”

  “I don’t want anyone to poke it.”

  He shrugged and took a bite of bread.

  “Could be nothing.”

  “Or it could be something.”

  “Or it could be nothing pretending to be something, which is worse.”

  I groaned. “My life is turning into a philosophy midterm.”

  The car suddenly drove off—slow, deliberate—and vanished around the corner like it had all the time in the world.

  And just like that, I was back in existential purgatory.

  I didn’t sleep that night.

  I tried. I really did.

  But every shadow in my room looked like a warning. Every creak sounded like betrayal. Every passing car felt like the prelude to being dragged into a van and replaced with a better, shinier Sakamoto.

  At some point past midnight, I rolled over and grabbed my phone.

  I stared at the screen.

  Opened my texts.

  Clicked Reina’s name.

  Typed something.

  Deleted it.

  Typed again.

  Deleted it harder.

  Eventually I settled on:

  Kenji: “Thanks for… earlier. I guess.”

  Sent.

  No response.

  Five minutes.

  Ten.

  I locked the phone and threw it under my pillow like it had personally failed me.

  At that moment, in some distant part of the city, a phone rang.

  Takashi picked it up.

  He said nothing at first.

  Just listened.

  Then smiled.

  “The final piece is in place,” he said softly.

  A pause.

  Then:

  “We’re ready.”