Fear the 'Hachiman'

The classroom was as dead as I expected.

The air felt thick like a place long abandoned but still occasionally visited by ghosts. Conversations were scarce, just faint murmurs here and there, but even those seemed forced. The atmosphere hung heavy over everyone as if acknowledging the reality that Class D had long since resigned itself to failure.

I scanned the room briefly, but I already knew where to look.

Near the window, Hirata Yosuke sat, his usual immaculate posture noticeably absent. He slouched slightly, elbows resting on the desk, gazing blankly outside like someone trying to disappear into the scenery. The light filtering through the glass barely touched him, as if even the sun was wary of getting too close to whatever weighed on him.

I didn't hesitate.

I walked over, ignoring the few curious glances that trailed behind me. Class D was a group of people who didn't care enough to engage in much, but even they seemed surprised to see me approach Hirata more than once.

"Hirata," I greeted with a curt nod, stopping at the edge of his desk.

He blinked, like someone waking up from a long nap they hadn't meant to take. His eyes, dulled by whatever haze he was in, flickered with faint recognition.

"You...?" He squinted slightly as if confirming I wasn't some hallucination. "Is there something you need?"

Straight to the point. At least that hadn't changed.

"I need your cooperation," I said plainly, keeping my voice low. There was no point in broadcasting this to the rest of the class.

Hirata's brows creased slightly. Confusion gave way to faint curiosity, but his exhaustion dulled any spark of real interest.

"Is this about Horikita-san?" he asked. His tone suggested he was already half-prepared to say no.

I shook my head. "No. This is about getting your class back in order."

For a second, I thought he might laugh. Instead, his expression darkened, and he leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet sigh.

"That's… not possible," he replied bitterly, his eyes trailing somewhere distant. "Class D can't be brought back to 'normal.'" His voice was steady, but the certainty in it was cold as if he had accepted the answer long ago. "That's assuming we were ever normal to begin with."

I crossed my arms, glancing briefly around the room. Students sat in varying states of apathy, some resting their heads, others scribbling half-hearted notes they probably wouldn't bother reading later. Girls chatting just for the sake of it. Even those who looked awake weren't really present. Hirata wasn't wrong.

But that was precisely why this needed to happen.

"You don't need everyone," I replied, turning my gaze back to him. "One competent person is enough to hold things together. That's how it always works in reality."

Hirata studied me, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to gauge whether I was serious or just screwing with him for my own amusement. I could tell he wanted to dismiss it outright, but there was a small flicker of hesitation.

"Class D doesn't want to engage," I continued, taking the opportunity while he lingered in thought. "They've already accepted their fate because they're convinced there's no point in fighting a losing battle. You can't force people to care when they've already resigned themselves to failure."

His lips pressed into a thin line. I could practically see his mind turning the words over, searching for some counterpoint but finding none that didn't circle back to the truth.

"But," I added, leaning in just slightly, "one person can make a difference. You just need someone competent enough to light a fire under them."

For a moment, Hirata didn't respond. He lowered his head, clasping his hands together like someone praying for an answer he didn't believe would ever come.

"And you think that person is me?" His voice was quieter as if the weight of the question pulled him down further.

I glanced around the classroom once more. The grim atmosphere hadn't shifted in the slightest.

I raised a brow and looked back at him. "Do you see anyone else in this room who looks sane and not completely disillusioned?"

That seemed to catch him off guard. Hirata blinked, and for the first time since I approached him, the corners of his mouth tugged upward in a faint, reluctant smile.

"Do I look like that?" he asked softly, almost like he was afraid to break the fragile moment by speaking too loudly.

"Yeah," I answered, dropping my arms to my sides. "You can trust me on that. Just don't put too much hope in me."

"That sounds like something a lazy person would say."

I glanced toward the door, subtly signaling that the conversation had run its course.

"Think about it," I added before stepping away.

As I made my way to the exit, I could feel his gaze lingering on me. I didn't turn back.

Whatever happened next was up to him.

But even so, I wasn't the type to stand by and watch as Class D slowly withered away under the weight of its own despair.

ㅤ

ᛚᛟᚾᛖᛚᚤᚲᚤᚾᛁᚲᚨᛚᛋᛟᚢᛚ

ㅤ

I wasn't in any hurry, letting my pace slow naturally as my thoughts lingered on Hirata's reaction. Maybe he'd come around, maybe he wouldn't. Either way, I'd said what I needed to say.

But, as always, peace of mind was a fleeting concept in this insanity of competition.

"What are you doing?"

The sharp voice cut through the silence like a knife. I stopped, glancing over my shoulder to see Horikita Suzune standing a few steps behind me, arms crossed and gaze narrowed in that 'I've caught you red-handed' glare she now focused on me.

Her glare wasn't anything new now. It was the kind of look that screamed "I don't trust you" loud enough to echo, though honestly, I was more surprised she had the energy to confront me. For someone who claimed disinterest in others, she sure seemed invested in whatever I was doing.

"Why are you even asking?" I replied, my tone as flat as ever. "I thought you were the solo type. Shouldn't you be off somewhere acing your exams without us mere mortals getting in your way?"

Her brow twitched. Still, it's progress. Mild irritation. Not quite enough to get a full score, but enough to make her pause. A win, I guess.

"That doesn't answer my question," she said, stepping closer. Her movements were precise and controlled like she thought getting any closer would corner me somehow. "What are you doing trying to drag Hirata-kun back into his role? Are you trying to manipulate him? What is your goal here with Class D?"

I frowned. Manipulate?

Now that was new. I'd been called a pessimist, and a loner, and once someone even mistook me for an NPC, but manipulation felt a little extreme. Especially coming from the person who practically showed everyone the title of 'Queen of Emotional Distance.'

"Manipulate?" I echoed, raising a brow. "Is that what we're calling helping people now? Maybe you should consider getting your eyes checked. Or do you just assume the worst by default?"

Her gaze narrowed further, locking on like a heat-seeking missile.

"Don't try to deflect," she shot back, her tone persistent. Like she was genuinely convinced she'd stumbled onto some grand conspiracy I'd apparently masterminded between afternoon naps. What the hell?

"There's no way you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart. You expect me to believe there's nothing in it for you?"

I sighed internally. Is she practicing to be some kind of detective? A bad one at that? Hello, where is Detective Conan?

"Well, when you put it that way, it almost sounds like you're disappointed I don't have an ulterior motive," I said, the sarcasm practically bleeding into my voice. Maybe I was a little annoyed, but can you blame me? I was just accused of being the villain in some classroom drama. "Sorry to break it to you, but I'm not exactly the mastermind you're painting me as."

Horikita's eyes narrowed further, the gears visibly turning in her head. I could practically hear them grinding together as she tried to deconstruct every word I'd just said.

She didn't trust me. No surprise there.

The real question is, has she ever trusted anyone to begin with?

"And why," I added, tilting my head slightly, "does it bother you so much all of a sudden? I thought you weren't interested in your classmates' problems."

Her lips parted slightly, but she hesitated.

"Classmates? Do I look like a classmate of these people who can't even learn on their own?"

Cold.

"What," I murmured under my breath. "I should've known. You don't look like someone who mingles with the unwashed masses."

She didn't dignify that with a response. If she had laser eyes I would be incarnated by now.

"I'm not here to coddle people who refuse to stand up for themselves," she continued matter-of-factly. "But you, on the other hand… What do you gain from this? If Hirata-kun fails, what happens next?"

"It's called hedging my bets. But you sound a little too invested for someone who supposedly doesn't care."

Horikita's expression didn't shift. She held her ground like she was carved from stone.

"Don't get the wrong idea," she said, arms tightening across her chest. "I don't care about them. I've learned by now that working with people like that won't lead anywhere. If I want to succeed, relying on myself is the only path forward."

That made me pause.

For a split second, I almost pitied her.

I tilted my head slightly, watching her with the same attention you'd have for someone willingly sticking their hand into a blender.

"Are you retarded?"

Horikita's eyes narrowed so sharply that I half-expected her to lunge at me.

"What did you just say?" Her voice dropped dangerously low, the words practically vibrating with indignation.

She was glaring at me like I'd just insulted the entirety of her family line.

I ignored it, pressing on. "With that kind of attitude, you're not getting anywhere. Not here. Not in Class D. And sure as hell not in the real world."

Her fingers twitched, but she didn't interrupt. Maybe she was waiting for an apology. If so, she'd be waiting a while.

"Who do you think you are to lecture me?" she bit out, her tone colder than before.

"Oh, I'm nobody," I replied casually, gesturing around the empty hallway. "Just your friendly neighborhood propagandist for logical thinking."

Her glare intensified. I could feel it burning into the side of my head, but I didn't stop.

"Let me ask you something, Horikita." I stepped closer. "Exactly how far do you think you're going to get by dismissing everyone around you? What's your endgame here? Because, spoiler alert, the whole lone wolf thing sounds cool until you realize no one's waiting for you at the finish line."

She opened her mouth to retort, but I cut her off, transferring more of what Komachi called Hachiman.

"And don't give me the whole 'I don't need anyone' speech. You know what that really sounds like?" I let the silence hang for a moment. "It sounds like someone setting themselves up to fail. Someone who's too scared of relying on others because it might not go the way they want. It's not strength. It's just dysfunction with extra steps."

Horikita's hands clenched at her sides. I could tell she wanted to say something, to fire back with whatever razor-sharp comment was forming in her head. But she didn't.

So, I kept going.

"Let me guess. You think working with the class is a waste of time because they're beneath you, right? They're dead weight, and you shouldn't have to drag them along to reach the top." I paused for effect, watching her reaction. "But here's the thing. Society is full of dead weight. You don't just 'leave them behind.' You learn how to carry it or, at the very least, how to move forward with it. That's how you survive out there."

Her gaze flickered—just for a second. I caught it.

Bullseye.

"Keep playing the lone genius all you want. But sooner or later, you'll realize that the ones who make it aren't always the strongest. They're the ones who can deal with the weight."

Horikita didn't say anything. She stood there, rooted in place, as if she were still processing everything.

I paused just long enough to let the silence stretch uncomfortably. The kind of silence that makes people rethink their life choices.

"You know," I said, glancing back at her, "you'd fit right in at a company full of overachievers. The kind of place where everyone's trying to climb over each other like crabs in a bucket. Sounds perfect for someone who thinks they're too good to be dragged down by anyone else."

Horikita's eyes widened further.

I raised a hand, cutting her off before she could respond.

"But let's fast forward a little, shall we? Say you actually land a job like that. You work hard, keep your head down, and do everything yourself because obviously, no one else can meet your ridiculously high standards. Sounds great in theory." I crossed my arms, shifting my weight casually. "Until your boss dumps a group project on you. Because guess what? In the real world, people love group projects. And you know who gets the worst of it?"

I gestured toward her without missing a beat.

"The person who's too competent for their own good. Congratulations, Horikita. You've just earned yourself a lifetime supply of extra work because you couldn't bring yourself to trust anyone else to do it properly."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but I wasn't done.

"And let's say, just for fun, you keep it up. You work longer hours, produce better results, and your superiors pat you on the back. Wow, Horikita-san, you're amazing. So amazing, in fact, that we're going to promote you." I smirked ominously. "Now you're in charge. And you know what managers do?"

I gave her a long, deliberate look.

"They manage people."

Horikita took a step back.

"You'll have to sit in meetings with coworkers who think spreadsheets are mystical ancient texts. You'll explain things five times to the same person because they can't tell the difference between copying and pasting. And you know what happens when they screw up?"

I shrugged dramatically.

"That's right. It's on you."

I could practically hear the irritation boiling under her skin, but she still didn't interrupt.

"So you'll try to fix it all yourself. Stay late, redo their work, and tell yourself it's faster that way. But eventually, the cracks start to show. Maybe you miss a deadline. Maybe something slips through the cracks. And suddenly, you're not the golden employee anymore. Now you're just the woman who 'can't delegate.'"

I let out a low chuckle.

"And the best part? The people you spent all that time looking down on? They'll be fine. Because when things go wrong, they've got you to blame. The pathetic Horikita Suzune."

I took another step closer, lowering my voice slightly.

"Still think you can handle everything alone? Sure, you can stay up there on your high horse if you want," I continued, "But try not to act too surprised when no one's there to catch you when you fall."

Because whether she admitted it or not, that mindset of hers was a dead end. And I wasn't going to let her drag everyone down with it.

"Yeah, well, someone's got to narrate the tragic downfall of Horikita Suzune. Might as well be me."

Her posture trembled, just for a second.

I braced myself, fully expecting some sharp retort—maybe another speech on how I was some kind of delusion she imagined.

But the words never came.

Instead, something unexpected happened.

Horikita stared at me with shaking eyes.

And ran.