Investigation

I had purchased a camera identical to the surveillance models used throughout the school. It was an investment—one that would prove invaluable when the time came to deal with Kyogo and Ichika. The strategy was simple: apply enough pressure to ensure they withdrew their case.

But now, a different problem had presented itself.

The senior I met earlier today had given me valuable information—fragments that, when pieced together, could illuminate the hidden hand behind recent events. All that remained was to process the data.

I accessed the Student Labor Program website, the one Asuka had briefly mentioned, and navigated to the search bar. Entering the account name, I pressed enter.

A moment later, the profile loaded.

My eyes locked onto the username.

WR_Know I

A curious choice of words, but beneath the surface, it carried a deeper implication. Rearranging the letters required no effort—the message was alarmingly clear.

"I Know WR..."

My breath remained steady, but an unsettling sensation crawled up my spine. Could it be? The initials "WR"—the White Room. A place erased from history, known only to those who walked its halls. The mere suggestion that someone within this school was aware of its existence was absurd. Yet, this username… it was no coincidence.

I forced myself to analyze it objectively. The account had been created shortly after the midterms—suspiciously close to the moment this fabricated incident had taken shape. That led to one undeniable conclusion:

This account exists solely to manipulate the outcome of Class C's case.

But to what end?

A theory formed. Could another class be using this situation as a means to probe my capabilities? A test? If so, that would suggest a level of awareness far beyond what any student should possess. And even if there were someone privy to the White Room's existence, why would they deliberately leave behind breadcrumbs?

No. This wasn't about exposing me outright. It was a provocation—a silent declaration that they were watching.

The air in my room turned frigid, the weight of realization pressing against me.

I was dancing to someone else's tune.

This wasn't Ryuuen's doing. His approach was crude, reliant on brute force and psychological domination. His primary objective was to test the school's disciplinary system, not craft an intricate web of deception. This level of precision wasn't within his usual playbook.

Nor was it likely orchestrated by another class. The plan had been in motion since Sudo's initial altercation, which meant the mastermind had prior knowledge of Ryuuen's intentions before he made his move. That indicated direct access to Class C's internal affairs.

Logically, the orchestrator was someone within Class C itself—an individual Ryuuen trusted enough to share information with. That drastically narrowed the pool of suspects.

I exhaled slowly, stepping away from my desk to prepare a cup of coffee.

"I see no reason to entertain their expectations."

Had they truly wished to expose me, they would have done so directly. Instead, they left behind deliberate clues, guiding me to this revelation as if they wanted me to realize I was being watched.

Perhaps it was a subtle warning.

Regardless, I had no intention of yielding to their rhythm. The best course of action was to proceed with caution—allow them to think their plan was working while keeping my true hand concealed. They might possess knowledge of the White Room, but they did not yet hold my identity.

For now, that was the advantage I had to maintain.

I picked up my phone and dialed Asuka Kuzo.

"I have a favor to ask."

---

The Digital Store

The evening breeze bit against my skin, my hair shifting slightly with each gust. The Keyaki Mall was a necessary stop, though not one I particularly looked forward to.

Navigating through the maze of storefronts, I arrived at the digital gadgets section. There weren't many establishments specializing in surveillance-grade cameras, making my search more efficient.

Pulling out my phone, I glanced at the image Asuka had sent me. Prior to this, I had exchanged a few points in return for information—specifically, the brand name of the camera. If it wasn't a widely available model, that would significantly narrow down the potential purchase locations.

There was another key detail: Asuka had not owned the camera herself. She had merely been provided with it. Given that her client's last interaction with her had been quite some time ago, I reasoned that they no longer had any use for it.

I approached a store, its inventory neatly arranged in pristine rows. My eyes immediately landed on a section dedicated to cameras.

I walked toward the counter.

"Good evening," I greeted, my tone composed yet unassuming. "I was wondering if you still carry cameras of this brand. Are they still in stock?"

The clerk squinted at my phone screen before recognition flashed across his face.

"Oh! No, that was our last stock," he replied, his tone professional. "It was quite expensive, to be honest. Students rarely purchased them, so we replaced them with a more affordable alternative—one that came in bulk."

I shifted my gaze back to the image. If someone had gone out of their way to acquire this specific model, then the purchase had required an immense amount of points.

"How much were they selling for?" I asked.

The clerk rubbed his chin. "Roughly 65,000 points."

My suspicions solidified. No ordinary student would make such a purchase. The percentage of students with photography as a hobby was low, and among first-years, the likelihood was even lower. Sakura Airi was the only individual I could think of who might entertain such an expense, but even she lacked the means.

By factoring in the price and the exclusivity of the purchase, I could estimate that fewer than 1% of the student body had ever bought such an item.

I turned back to the clerk. "Would you happen to recall the last customer who purchased this model? I'd appreciate it if you could point me in their direction."

The man's expression shifted.

"Oh, actually," he interrupted before I could finish. "He left this behind."

He handed me an envelope.

My fingers tightened around it.

"He told me to give this to anyone who came asking about that camera." The clerk's tone was uncertain, as if he himself found the request strange. "I asked him why—why he was so confident someone would come looking—but he didn't answer."

A calculated move.

I considered pressing for more information. "Do you remember what he looked like?"

The clerk exhaled, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, no. I deal with dozens of customers every day—it's hard to keep track of specific faces. If it had been recent, maybe... but I can't say for sure."

A reasonable response. Given his occupation, his attention would naturally be divided among countless interactions. Expecting him to recall a singular exchange from days or weeks prior was unrealistic.

"I see. That's understandable."

I turned toward the exit, glancing down at the envelope in my hand.

This situation was growing increasingly intricate. Every step forward only revealed another layer—another move carefully orchestrated to direct my attention.

Whoever was behind this was leading me deeper into their game.

And I had no choice but to follow.