The silence stretched, broken only by the shallow rhythm of Kushida's breath. Ayanokoji remained motionless, his gaze fixed on something beyond the room. The weight of his hand on her breast felt strangely impersonal, devoid of desire.
Finally, he spoke, his voice a low murmur. "I want you to target twelve individuals. Four from Class B, three from Class C, and five from Class D."
Kushida's eyes snapped open, surprise flickering across them. "Four from B? And Five from Class D? That's a lot."
"They're the most susceptible," he explained, his tone flat. "The rumors need to be believable, but ultimately harmless. No expulsion scandals or public meltdowns."
Kushida tilted her head, considering. "Similar to the mail method, then? Vague accusations, whispers of past mistakes?"
Ayanokoji nodded curtly. "Exactly. We want to sow doubt, not tear them down completely."
A slow smile spread across Kushida's face. This wasn't the nightmarish scenario she'd envisioned. In fact, it was a familiar game, one she excelled at. "Consider it done, Ayanokoji-kun," she purred, her voice laced with a hint of amusement.
Relief washed over her. This was a task she could handle, a way to prove her worth once again. She shifted on his lap, a subtle reminder of her predicament.
"May I… get down now?" she asked, her voice tentative.
His grip tightened around her waist, a steel band holding her captive. His voice, when he spoke, held a predatory edge that sent shivers down her spine. "Not so fast, Kushida. I can't let you go so easily, not after the little show you put on."
Kushida's heart hammered against her ribs. Had he seen through her earlier facade? Was this punishment for her failed recording attempts?
But his next words dispelled her fear, replacing it with a different kind of tension. "Besides," he continued, his voice a husky whisper against her ear, "wouldn't it be a shame to waste this…opportunity?"
His hand, still resting on her breast, began to move, tracing a slow, deliberate path down her side, sending sparks of heat radiating across her skin. Kushida's breath caught in her throat. This was new territory, a dangerous game she hadn't anticipated.
He wasn't rough, but his movements were practiced, efficient. One moment they were on the bed, the next he was on top, his weight a delicious pressure against her. His hands explored every curve, sending shivers down her spine despite the coolness of his touch.
"This," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper hot against her ear, "is to remind you who holds the power, Kushida. You're useful, but don't forget your place."
His lips brushed hers, a fleeting tease that left her wanting more. It wasn't passionate, but the possessiveness in that kiss sent a jolt through her. Fear and a strange thrill warred within her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, playing her part.
The night unfolded in a haze of tangled limbs and whispered commands. His touch was precise, calculated to draw out every gasp and moan, and despite the impersonal way he moved, the pleasure was undeniable. Even for him, the feel of her smooth skin was intoxicating.
When it was finally over, he rolled away, leaving her breathless and strangely raw. He hadn't violated her, but he'd taken what he wanted, enjoyed her body without a hint of warmth. In the dim light, his face remained unreadable.
"Remember, Kushida," he said, his voice flat, "the rumors need to be spread by the day after tomorrow."
Shame burned in her chest, a bitter aftertaste to the stolen intimacy.
She rose from the bed, her nakedness a weapon in this silent war. "Consider it done, Ayanokoji-kun," she purred, her voice laced with a dangerous sweetness that promised more than just obedience.
Ayanokoji didn't flinch. He watched calmly as she dressed, each garment a shield against his gaze, but unable to hide the lingering flush on her skin.
With a final, lingering glance that spoke volumes, she slipped out of the room, the click of the door echoing the unresolved tension that hung heavy in the air. The night was far from over, and Kushida, fueled by a potent mix of anger and a newfound resolve, was determined to play her part.
The twelfth of February dawned, a day seemingly ordinary except for the conspicuous absence of Kushida Kikyo from Class D. Ayanokoji didn't waste his energy sending inquiries. He knew exactly where she was and what she was doing.
Kushida, instead of attending classes, was holed up in her dorm room, meticulously crafting notes. Not love letters or heartfelt messages, but something far more insidious – seeds of doubt disguised as rumors.
Each note targeted a specific student, one from Class B, three from Class C, and five from Class D. The accusations were carefully crafted, vague but believable – a past gambling debt, a hidden rivalry, a secret past shrouded in shame.
These notes, once discreetly slipped into student mailboxes, had the potential to ignite a wildfire of suspicion. By the thirteenth, rumors would be swirling like smoke, engulfing the entire first year. Ayanokoji knew the school wouldn't stand idly by. Damage control would kick in, but not instantaneously. He was banking on a window of opportunity, a few precious days before the adults intervened.
His next move, however, wasn't another manipulation of Kushida. It was time to visit Ichinose Honami.
The thirteenth arrived, heralded by the usual morning routine shattered by the buzz of speculation.
The rumors had taken root, spreading like weeds across the fertile ground of the student body. After classes ended, Ayanokoji didn't hesitate. He made his way to Class B's dormitory, his steps echoing in the quiet hallway.
He found himself in front of Ichinose's room, not alone. A small group of her classmates stood huddled outside the closed door, their faces etched with worry. A worried murmur buzzed between them, a chorus of concern for their distraught leader.
"Honami-chan, are you okay in there?" one girl called out, her voice laced with trepidation.
No response. Just a suffocating silence emanating from behind the wood. Ayanokoji observed for a moment, his gaze impassive. The sight confirmed his suspicion – Ichinose was a fortress withdrawn, impenetrable to their well-meaning pleas.
He didn't linger. There was no point in adding his voice to the chorus.
He turned and walked away, leaving the concerned group behind. His plan was simple – wait until the evening, when the hallway would be deserted.
Seven o'clock arrived, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple. Ayanokoji revisited Ichinose's room. This time, the hallway was empty, a quiet solitude that mirrored the silence emanating from within. He raised his hand and knocked twice, a sharp rap against the wood.
A beat of silence, then another, and another. No response. He wasn't surprised. As far as Ichinose was concerned, opening the door meant opening herself up to the world that felt determined to tear her down.
"Ichinose-san," he spoke, his voice flat and emotionless, carrying through the barrier of the door. "I believe you owe me a favor, wouldn't you agree?"
Another pause, longer this time. Then, a barely audible whisper from inside. "A favor?"
"Indeed," he continued. "And the way I see it, letting me in is a simple way to repay that debt."
More silence, thick and heavy. Ayanokoji waited patiently, his unwavering gaze fixed on the doorknob. Finally, a soft click echoed through the hallway.
The door creaked open, revealing a figure bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun.
Ichinose stood before him, her usually bright eyes dull with exhaustion.
Her smile, once as radiant as the sun, was now a pale shadow of its former self. She wore casual clothes, her posture slumped, a stark contrast to the poised leader she used to be.
"Ayanokoji-kun," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "What do you want?"
Ayanokoji stepped inside, the door silently clicking shut behind him. The room was tidy, a reflection of Ichinose's meticulous nature. But even here, the air hung heavy with despair.