Finding Megumi and Sakura separately is easy enough – Megumi holds court in an abandoned corner of the schoolyard, while Sakura retreats to the quietest section of the library. The hard part is convincing them.
"This is insane," Megumi hisses when I outline my hastily formed plan, "You want to leak everything? After all the work we've put in?"
"Necessary," I insist, surprised by the conviction in my own voice, "Tanaka's crossed a line. We take him down, destroy everything, and end this."
Megumi's expression is a mask of cold calculation. Then, unexpectedly, she laughs. "And what makes you think anyone will believe a pathetic little worm like you?"
The words sting. Because she's right. Ryu Satou, the nobody, has zero credibility. But I can't back down now.
This is where Sakura surprises me. "They'll listen," she says, her voice barely a whisper but with an unexpected firmness, "Because... because I've seen you."
Her cheeks blaze with a blush, the stutter more pronounced than ever. But her eyes, usually downcast, hold mine – an echo of that defiant admiration that sparked this whole mess.
Megumi eyes us both, a flicker of something I can't decipher in her gaze. Then she nods, a sharp, decisive movement. "Fine. You orchestrate the how, we'll handle the fallout."
The next few days unravel with a speed that leaves me breathless. It's a desperate gamble: forged messages strategically leaked, rumors spread that seem to confirm Tanaka's growing instability. His own men start giving him wary side-eyes, the fragile threads of loyalty beginning to fray.
Meanwhile, Kenji - fueled by whispers that his rival is imploding - makes his move. Their final confrontation isn't a battle so much as a brutal ambush, and within hours, it's over. Tanaka's men scatter, his territory is swallowed whole, his reign reduced to a cautionary tale whispered in back alleys.
I should be satisfied. This is what I wanted, isn't it? To shatter this miniature criminal empire from the inside out?
But when Pops finds me the next morning, his face tight with a mix of relief and lingering fear, I feel nothing but a hollow sense of guilt.
"It's done," I mumble, avoiding his grateful gaze, "Tanaka's gone, his guys are done. It's...it's over."
The old man stares at me for a long moment. Then he does something unexpected – he laughs. It's a bitter sound, devoid of joy.
"Over?" he echoes, "Boy, you think this world works like some storybook? There's always another one, greedier, hungrier. You just lit the fuse on something you can't put out."
His words hit me like a physical blow. I try to protest, to explain my grand plans about manipulating the shadows, but even to my own ears, it sounds flimsy.
That night, I finally allow myself to think about the path I've chosen. Megumi, Sakura...they're caught up in my schemes now, not just players in my game, but girls with their own hopes, fears, and tangled motivations that I barely understand.
The gleaming skull mask of the Unsung Overlord sits on my desk, the glowing red eyes mocking. I used to stare at it, imagining the awe it would inspire in my followers. Now, it feels more like accusation.
Sleep, when it finally comes, is filled with twisted nightmares. I am Tanaka, cowering before his rebellious lieutenants. I am a terrified student in a vandalized classroom. I am Pops, his weathered face etched with a despair my actions have caused.
I jolt awake, heart pounding, and the first slivers of dawn are bleeding through the curtains. The mask's menacing grin seems wider than I remember. My carefully constructed world of shadows and illusions is crumbling, revealing a harsh truth: Even the most meticulously plotted puppet shows have real consequences. And those consequences have a price I'm no longer sure I'm willing to pay.