Your Client

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A Sunny Afternoon and an Unraveled Thread

The hearing had concluded a little past three in the afternoon. The final verdict would be delivered in the last meeting, and only then would Manabu present the results. Until that moment arrived, all I could do was piece together what I had learned so far.

Horikita had done her part well. Her points were well-structured, thought-provoking, and designed to challenge the integrity of the claims made by the so-called victims. From their behavior alone, I could infer that we were on the right track—hesitation, inconsistency, and subtle shifts in tone were all indicative of a fabricated narrative.

Sakagami-sensei, on the other hand, appeared to be nothing more than a class teacher blindly supporting his students. He seemed either unwilling or incapable of considering the logical flaws in their statements. Though Horikita's arguments should have raised red flags, he dismissed them as irrelevant, showing either negligence or bias. Yet, his actions didn't indicate deeper involvement. If anything, he was an accessory to a scheme rather than one of its architects.

But the most unexpected turn of events was the sudden introduction of a witness from Class C. That alone raised several questions.

Was she coerced into testifying? Or did she step forward willingly?

President Manabu's reaction suggested that she was a senior, which further complicated matters. Why would a senior involve themselves in a dispute among first-years? The entire case was already a headache for us—desperate attempts to prevent Sudou's expulsion, strategic maneuvering between classes, and hidden influences working behind the scenes.

A third-year student had little to gain from such entanglements, especially if they were already close to graduating. Points would hold minimal value for them beyond basic survival. That left me with one plausible assumption: she was in her second year.

If that were the case, then her involvement had to be tied to something more than just personal interest or class solidarity. There was a transaction at play—an exchange.

And right now, I was following her.

Her name was Asuka Kuzo.

I trailed her from a safe distance as she walked toward the second-year dormitory. The path was sparsely populated, with no students loitering nearby—an ideal setting to approach her. I wasn't planning to interrogate her forcefully, but avoiding public scrutiny was necessary.

Just as I was about to step forward, she abruptly stopped in her tracks. Without hesitation, she snapped her neck toward me, her sharp eyes locking onto mine.

"Huh? Who are you? Why are you following me?"

Her gaze flickered with recognition before she narrowed her eyes.

"Wait… aren't you the guy from the hearing? The one against Class C?"

It took her long enough to put it together.

"That would be me," I replied casually. "I was hoping to ask you a few questions."

She examined me with skepticism, her eyes scanning me up and down as if weighing my motives. It was as though her gaze could crush me where I stood.

"No," she said flatly. "I don't see any reason to talk to you."

I expected such response, but I wasn't Will to back down.

"Please," I continued, keeping my voice steady. "It would be helpful if you could. Your name—it's Asuka Kuzo, right?"

She crossed her arms, her skeptical expression unwavering.

"Yes. And you are?"

"Ayanokoji Kiyotaka. Nice to meet you."

I extended my hand as a polite gesture, though I already expected her reaction. She simply stared at it before looking back up at me.

"Likewise," she said dryly. "But let's get one thing straight—I won't be answering your questions unless you offer something in return."

Her tone shifted slightly, an undertone of negotiation slipping in. So that was it. She wasn't opposed to talking—she just wanted compensation.

A transactional personality.

She valued information the same way she valued points. A clear indication that she wasn't here simply out of duty or morality.

"Fair enough," I said, carefully choosing my words, I don't want to make her think her information has any value, and since she didn't ask for points, I can use that to my advantage. "I can offer you something in exchange for your cooperation. Something I believe you'll find… worthwhile."

She arched an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious.

"What could that be?" she asked, folding her arms. "I was expecting you to offer private points, but do go on."

I maintained my usual unreadable expression.

"As a senior, I imagine assignments and projects must be time-consuming and mentally exhausting. I could offer assistance in areas you struggle with—academic, strategic, or otherwise."

Her expression didn't change, but I could see her processing the offer.

"I can manage just fine," she responded. "I'm from Class B. My only concern is private points—everything else is insignificant."

No room for improvisation. She was the type to prioritize self-preservation over mutual benefit.

"That's how you see it," I said, unfazed. "But what happens when exams come up? Balancing studies with rest can be difficult. Why not leave that burden to me? After all, I'm just a kouhai looking to help."

She narrowed her eyes, carefully considering my words. Finally, she reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, and held it out to me.

"Here," she said. "Your contact information."

I took the phone, inputted my number, and returned it to her. A sign that she had agreed to my offer.

"What do you want to ask?" she said, her tone sharper now, arms crossed.

"As you know, my classmate Sudou is in a difficult situation. But that's common knowledge to anyone involved in this case. What I want to know is why you decided to get involved."

She scoffed. "What do you mean? A senior can't stand up for her juniors if they were beaten up by a guy twice their size?"

I remained silent for a moment before responding.

"That's not the issue," I said. "You claim you did this out of duty, but your actions contradict your words. If you truly stood for justice, you wouldn't have tried to negotiate compensation for information. A senior protecting juniors wouldn't see their involvement as a business opportunity."

Her expression hardened.

"Fuck you," she muttered under her breath.

A reaction rooted in frustration, not anger. I had hit a nerve.

"Senpai," I continued, pressing forward. "That means someone offered you something in return for testifying. You have a business-oriented mindset. That means… this was a job, wasn't it?"

She flinched. A small, involuntary reaction, but enough of a confirmation.

"How did you know that?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

"It wasn't difficult to figure out. Your willingness to negotiate before sharing information, your lack of genuine concern for those you're supposedly defending, and your strategic positioning at the hearing. You didn't come forward because of justice. You were paid to."

Her fists tightened.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

"Who hired you?"

She hesitated before sighing. "I don't know their real identity. But I was hired through the Student Labor Program—a website sanctioned by the student council."

I frowned.

"A job board?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "Students can take on small tasks to earn extra points. It's mostly for people who don't join clubs."

She sent me an SMS containing the account name of the person who had hired her.

"I received my payment yesterday. That was the last I heard from them."

Interesting. This added a new layer to the case. Someone with resources and influence was pulling the strings.

Whoever they were, they had just made a critical mistake.

And I intended to expose them.