With that, I Let Out My Anger

I didn't expect much when I opened the door to the Student Council Room. Maybe to see Tachibana-san glaring at me for not knocking, or Horikita Manabu radiating his usual "I have no time for your nonsense" energy.

What I didn't expect was her.

Leaning casually over the desk, with one hand on her hip and the other sprawled across Horikita Manabu's paperwork, was a woman I'd never seen before.

Tall, graceful, and carrying an aura that called trouble, she stood out like a sore thumb in this shrine of discipline and efficiency. Her dark hair, perfectly styled, framed a face that practically sparkled with mischief. Her eyes sharp and playful were the kind that probably saw far too much and enjoyed every second of it.

I immediately disliked her.

Not in the "I hate you" way. More in the "this person is going to be troublesome isn't she?" kind of way.

She looked too put together, too comfortable being somewhere she clearly wasn't supposed to be. People like that were dangerous.

"I'm telling you, this is ridiculous!" she declared, lips curling into a pout that didn't match the glint in her eyes. "It's just a little exam. What's the harm in letting me help Yukino-chan?"

I felt my face freeze.

Yukino… chan?

You know that faint, stomach-dropping feeling when you realize your day just got significantly worse.

There weren't many people who'd call the great ojou-sama Yukinoshita Yukino that way. Fewer still who'd survive it.

My eyes narrowed slightly, my brain piecing things together faster than I liked.

Elegant. Sharp-tongued. Very familiar looks.

Yep. There was no mistaking it.

Across from her, Horikita Manabu looked as stoic as ever. If he was even mildly annoyed, you wouldn't know it. The guy could probably stay calm while a building burned down around him. His pen glided across the paper, his voice even and controlled.

"I've already explained the rules, Yukinoshita Haruno-san. Only students currently enrolled at Advanced Nurturing High School or Sobu High are permitted to participate in the Special Exam. Outside interference is prohibited."

There was a faint flick of his gaze in her direction, but that was all. It was the kind of look reserved for insects you were too bored to squash. I hope no brawl will break out with me here.

"Your presence here changes nothing."

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop the snort threatening to escape.

The woman sighed dramatically, collapsing onto the desk like someone had denied her dessert.

"How heartless. I thought Student Council presidents were supposed to be a little more flexible." She rested her chin on her hand, smiling in the way people do when they're clearly up to no good. "Aren't you curious what I could offer~? Nee~?"

"I'm not," Manabu replied, his pen never stopping.

This time I actually did snort. Quietly, but it slipped out.

Her eyes flicked toward me briefly, narrowing in faux-annoyance, but the amusement never left her face.

"Horikita-kun," she said, voice silky but with a dangerous undercurrent, "You really need to work on your hospitality. Aren't you even a little curious about me?"

"I'm not," he repeated without missing a beat.

King of consistency.

The woman's perfect smile twitched, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw something more cutting beneath it like a predator deciding if the hunt was worth the effort. But the mask slid back into place as smoothly as it had cracked.

"You're no fun."

"I've heard that before." The Student Council President finally set his pen down. "Tachibana."

"Yes, Kaichou." Secretary Tachibana appeared at his side almost instantly, standing straight with that practiced precision that made you question if she was an actual person or a machine programmed for efficiency.

"Please escort Yukinoshita-san out. Ensure she does not linger."

There was no malice in his words, no hint of frustration. Just a casual dismissal. Like this sort of thing happened regularly.

Yukinoshita Haruno lifted her brows, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the situation.

"Oh? Throwing me out already?" Her eyes flicked toward me for the first time.

I paled, suddenly regretting the decision that led me to stand in that doorway.

Her gaze remained.

"And who's this?" she asked, tilting her head with interest.

I could practically feel her dissecting me piece by piece.

Horikita Manabu didn't give me a chance to answer.

"No one of consequence."

I wanted to high-five him for that one.

Yukinoshita Haruno, however, didn't look offended. If anything, she seemed more amused.

"Well, I suppose I'll take my leave then." She straightened, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve with exaggerated care. As she passed me, she gave a small nod, eyes pausing for just a moment too long.

"Hey," she added lightly, "be sure to tell Yukino-chan I stopped by, will you?"

I blinked and tilted my head.

"Who?" I replied dumbly, leaning hard into the act.

Her grin widened.

Yep. This is going to be a problem.

With that, she swept past, her steps light but deliberate, as if she owned the floor beneath her.

Secretary Tachibana followed closely behind, though I caught the faintest twitch of her eye as she held the door open a second longer than necessary.

It was almost like she was making sure the chaos didn't find a way to sneak back in.

The room grew quiet once they were gone.

Horikita Manabu, unfazed as ever, resumed his paperwork like nothing had happened.

I shifted awkwardly, suddenly very aware I was still standing there.

"…Who was that?" I asked him after a pause, despite already knowing the answer.

He didn't even look up.

"A devil."

For once, we agreed.

ㅤ

ᛚᛟᚾᛖᛚᚤᚲᚤᚾᛁᚲᚨᛚᛋᛟᚢᛚ

ㅤ

I sank into the chair across from Horikita Manabu, feeling the weight of the silence as it settled between us. His pen glided across the paper, not once acknowledging my presence beyond the initial glance he spared me earlier.

Typical.

I tapped my fingers against the armrest, letting the seconds drag before finally breaking the quiet.

The room felt unnervingly neat—too perfect, almost as if he'd arranged it deliberately to make whoever sat across from him feel small. But that was Horikita Manabu, wasn't it? The type to turn even the furniture into a weapon in his game of psychological warfare.

Silence existed before I broke it.

"…Are you satisfied?"

His pen stopped mid-stroke, and his gaze lifted, sharp as a blade, appraising me without a hint of emotion visible.

"With what?"

"The Service Club. The way you've decided to use us," I replied, my voice seemingly flat and uninterested. No point beating around the bush with him.

Horikita Manabu studied me for a long moment, his stare scrutinizing every inch of the question as if trying to determine its worth.

"I expect results," he said, finally. "and for you to provide them."

A cold, seemingly indifferent response. I should've known better than to expect something different.

Still, I leaned forward, locking eyes with him.

"Don't play dumb. You know that's not what I'm asking."

I saw the faintest flicker of curiosity in his eyes, just for a split second.

"Explain."

I exhaled slowly, choosing my words carefully.

"You're the Student Council President. You're the one sending out the announcements about the exams, or at least have influence over them. I'd have to be an idiot not to notice that much."

His pen stayed still between his fingers, but his focus on me sharpened. His attention regarding me had doubled, and I knew I had him.

Hook, line, and sinker.

"So tell me," I said, leaning back a little, "Horikita Suzune… Does that name ring a bell? You really expect me to believe that's just a coincidence?"

His expression didn't change.

For anyone else, that would've been dismissal. For me, it was a clue.

"Or are you going to tell me it's just a similarity in surnames?"

His eyes narrowed slightly, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor. His attention had fully locked on me now. Too bad I wasn't the type to scurry away.

"You're observant," he acknowledged. "But that's not surprising."

I raised a brow.

"Hah. Because manipulating the Service Club member into partnering with her was all part of some grand plan to improve Class D, wasn't it?"

"You misunderstand."

"Do I?"

I watched him carefully, looking for any hint of vulnerability, but there was nothing. He didn't bite.

Of course not. Horikita Manabu didn't seem exactly the type to take cheap shots at. He'd just dodge them with the grace of someone who'd been doing this since birth.

"Undoubtedly, I choose your partner in this Special Exam,"

I clenched my jaw, feeling the irritation building.

"So you rigged it."

"Yes," No apology. No excuse. Just the truth.

No hesitation. This guy really didn't care how obvious he made it.

"But your assessment isn't entirely correct. You've assumed it was solely for my foolish sister's benefit."

I narrowed my eyes, catching the slight edge in his tone. Oh, so she was his 'foolish sister' now. How warm and brotherly. Do I call you Itachi now?

"Don't tell me you thought I wouldn't notice how dysfunctional she is," I said, letting a slight sneer slip through. "What, did you think I'd take one look at her and Class D, and then magically feel motivated to fix whatever the deal is?"

"There has never been a Class D with this level of instability in the history of our school," he stated instead, "I wanted to see if it was possible to witness a phoenix rise from the ashes."

Did he really just say that? Was this guy seriously using a phoenix metaphor in front of me?

I scoffed.

"Yeah, well, don't hold your breath. You're not going to see any miracles. At best, you'll be watching us perform CPR on something barely clinging to life."

No phoenix. Just a bunch of people awkwardly trying to resuscitate a dead bird.

And you can shove that instability straight up your—

I stopped myself, waving a hand dismissively. No need to be overly graphic. I was sure the point got across just fine.

"Look, I also didn't sign up to play therapist for some disillusioned girl trapped in whatever fantasy bubble she's got going on. If you wanted someone to hold her hand and tell her life's going to be okay, you picked the wrong guy."

My words hung heavily in the air, and I expected some kind of retort, maybe even a threat. But instead, his stare grew colder, and for the first time since I entered the room, I felt the weight of his presence.

It wasn't intimidation exactly… but there was this suffocating sense of inevitability that came with being in the same room as him.

This wasn't just any student council president. This was the Horikita Manabu who had engineered this entire charade.

Finally, he spoke.

"My sister lacks discipline," he said, his voice level. "She has potential, but she is naive. She refuses to acknowledge the reality of how this school operates… how the world operates."

"Yeah, I saw it personally."

He ignored that. "She believes that merit alone will guide her forward, and that effort is the sole determinant of success. That mindset will break her."

"Sounds like she's just trying to avoid ending up like the rest of us," I shot back, my voice flat. "Can't exactly blame her for that."

Manabu's gaze remained unyielding.

"Effort without the ability to adapt is worthless," he voiced coldly. "People who cling to ideals, blind to their own shortcomings, will fall behind. That is the natural order."

I could hear it, clear as day. The belief behind those words. The strongest move forward and the weak fall behind. Simple.

"You talk like you've already written her off," I muttered. "Why bother pulling the strings if you think she's that hopeless?"

"Because she is still my sister."

For a second, I thought I might've imagined it. There was the faintest shift in his tone, so subtle you could've blinked and missed it. It wasn't affection, not exactly—but there was something else there.

Responsibility.

Even Horikita Manabu couldn't escape the weight of family obligation.

"So, what?" I asked. "You're hoping to mold her into something better? Make her one of your star players you can finally be proud of?"

"If she cannot rise to the challenge, she will remain in Class D," he said plainly, almost as if he'd already decided. "But if there is even a possibility she can improve, I will see it through. I wish to see her go beyond my shadow."

His conviction was unnerving. No doubt. No arrogance—just a cold certainty that whatever path he set, Horikita Suzune would either pursue it or collapse trying.

"Sounds like you are a perfect brother example," I couldn't stop the incredulous tone from slipping into my voice.

His eyes narrowed.

"You disagree with it?"

I let out a bitter laugh.

"Of course I do. You think everyone's supposed to fit into this perfect little system. Like the only people who deserve to get anywhere are the ones who play by the rules you set."

I met his gaze, feeling the weight of my own words settle in the room.

"And the rules you're a slave to." I spat.

...unyielding conviction of someone who had complete faith in his own judgment. It was unsettling in a way that made you wonder if this guy ever doubted anything in his life.

I have tried to piece him together since our first visit. His demeanor, his calculated words. It was all textbook.

It wasn't hard to see that he was a man of extremes, convinced that his own rigid sense of duty was the correct one. The kind of person who believed only in one right way to do things. And that, I realized, was his mistake.

Horikita Manabu's expression didn't change, but I could feel the tension building. His cold eyes locked onto me as if waiting for me to finish, but I wasn't done.

"I don't know why you even bother," I muttered, my words colder than the silence that had settled between us. "It's almost laughable how you keep acting like you've got everything figured out when you've clearly missed the point with your sister."

He still didn't flinch, but I could see the twitch in his jaw. No doubt he was trying to suppress whatever irritation I was provoking with each word. But I didn't care. This wasn't about diplomacy. This was about telling him the truth, no matter how much it stung.

"You think you can just delegate responsibility? Get others to fix your mistakes, to patch up the messes you've created with that delusional sense of order you cling to. Surprise: that's not how it works," I sneered.

He blinked, but it was barely noticeable. I didn't let up, though. This was the part that mattered. I couldn't stand how he'd tossed his own little sister aside with a set of expectations that only suffocated her.

"You sit there with your perfect little plans and your rules like everything's a game. And your sister? She's just a pawn to you. Someone to mold into your image, to fit into your neat little world that is cruel if you really consider it. I wouldn't be surprised if you gave her away to the devil without batting an eye. You talk about her like she's some broken girl that needs fixing, but what if she's just been isolated for too long because you never showed up for her?"

His gaze didn't shift, but I could feel it cutting through me. Something unsettled me about how calm he could be in the face of my anger. Still, I wasn't done.

"I get it," I hissed. "You want her to be better, to rise above the rest. But you're too blind to see that the reason she's so screwed up is because of you. Your cold, calculating approach to life is what turned her into a walking fortress. You don't give her room to breathe. You don't let her fail on her own terms. You just keep pushing, pushing, pushing, and for what? So you can say 'I told you so' when she falls short? What's the point?"

For the first time since the conversation started, I saw a tiny crack in his unyielding façade. He didn't speak immediately, but his eyes had shifted, momentarily lost in thought.

"Your sister's been fighting this battle alone, while you sit here playing a fucking puppet master, pulling strings and hiding behind your responsibilities. Maybe you should start looking at her as a person, instead of a project," I spat like venom. "You've reduced her to a failure before she even had a chance to breathe."

I give him my most dead stare. "I don't even need to know her to see that she's been suffocating in a box you built. You want to be the great older brother in this story, but all you're doing ensures she can never escape the shadow you've cast over her. She's drowning, and you're too busy pretending to be some sort of ideal brother to even notice."

A silence fell over the room, thick and suffocating. I could feel my words sinking in, each one a reminder of just how far off-track Horikita Manabu had gone.

"If you want her to change, then stop treating her like a trophy, stop treating her like a reflection of your pride. You want results? Start listening to her, not just the version of her you've created in your head."

Manabu's hard gaze remained the same, but for the first time, I didn't feel his overwhelming presence. Instead, I felt pity. Pity for the guy who thought he had it all under control, yet was so lost in his own expectations that he couldn't even see the damage he was causing to his sibling.

His voice barely broke the silence. "So you think you can fix everything with your words?"

I shot back, "No, but at least I'm trying to see things for what they are. You, on the other hand, are just playing god with her life."

The tension was palpable, and I knew I'd hit a nerve. For a moment, his eyes seemed to soften, just a fraction. But it didn't last long. His rigid posture returned, the calculated indifference slipping back into place.

I hadn't wanted to get involved in this. Honestly, I would've preferred to stay out of it. But thinking about how someone could treat their younger sister like this… drove me to the edge. The anger simmered under my skin, a constant reminder of what was wrong here. Horikita Manabu should've been handling this from the start, but instead, he kept putting it off.

"You speak as if I've abandoned her."

"If that's not true then why the hell does she look so pathetic? " I snapped.

There was no answer. Just the quiet hum of the open window, as if everything that needed to be said had already been thrown into the void.