Subaru walked closer.
Ten meters.
Eight meters.
Five meters.
Miyabi Nagumo's heart pounded violently, almost bursting through his chest. Uncontrollable images flashed through his mind—the dim lights of the Student Council room, his own twisted fingers, and that demon squatting in front of him, reciting his family's information in a flat tone.
And that sentence—
"You are now a 'tool.' A tool used to help me 'ignite the colors' of others."
Three meters.
Two meters.
One meter.
Subaru brushed past him.
From start to finish, Subaru didn't spare him a glance.
No greeting, no threat, no mockery, not even a shred of superfluous attention.
He just... passed by.
Like passing a completely unimportant stranger.
Nagumo froze in place.
The composed smile on his face remained, but it had thoroughly congealed, turning into some twisted expression.
The student beside him was still saying something, but he could no longer hear it.
He only heard his own heartbeat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
So loud, so fast, as if it would jump out of his chest at any moment.
Subaru's retreating figure grew distant.
That back was very ordinary, no different from any other student.
But in Nagumo's eyes, that back was more terrifying than any monster.
Because he knew what lay beneath that ordinary skin.
He knew how those flat eyes had once looked at him.
He knew how those hands had once snapped his fingers one by one.
He knew how that person had calmly recounted his parents' affairs—as if it were just a trivial conversation.
And what Nagumo cared about even more was the other party's attitude.
It was as if he were a completely insignificant existence.
"Nagumo-senpai? Nagumo-senpai!"
The voice of the student beside him finally pulled him back to reality.
Nagumo snapped back to his senses.
"Ah... what is it?"
"The gymnasium seems to have cleared out; we can go in now."
"...Okay."
Nagumo took a deep breath, trying hard to restore himself to normal.
He stepped forward, walking into the gymnasium.
He remembered the words Subaru had said that night before summer vacation.
"Kakeru Ryuen and Kikyo Kushida, they have the opportunity to generate color."
"And what you can do is make those colors that might be born... a little more intense."
"This is your only value."
Only value.
Tool.
He was just a tool now.
A tool used to help those two people who had "the opportunity to generate color."
"...Nagumo-senpai?"
"It's nothing."
He continued to walk forward, his pace a bit slower than usual.
His right hand remained curled, unable to fully straighten.
Although those fingers had basically recovered, they still hadn't fully healed—they could never be as dexterous as before, never forcefully grip anything again.
Just like himself.
On the surface, he was still that Miyabi Nagumo, the second-year Vice President, the ambitious leader.
But on the inside, he had been thoroughly hollowed out.
Only fear remained.
And the hatred suppressed in the deepest depths by that fear—almost imperceptible.
Soon, they also began the grip strength test.
Nagumo stood in front of the grip meter, his right hand trembling slightly.
He looked down at his hand.
Those fingers that had once been snapped were now aching faintly.
It seemed to hurt a little more than before.
"Nagumo-senpai?" The junior beside him asked in confusion. "What's wrong? You seem unwell today."
"It's nothing."
He took a deep breath and grasped the handle.
It was like a person with a broken leg; even if healed, running and jumping would be affected later.
Not necessarily physically, but mostly psychologically.
Fear that his bones would break again.
However, with so many people watching, Nagumo could only force himself to rally.
He exerted force slightly.
The numbers jumped.
Finally stopping at 61.
A burst of admiration sounded around him—61 was indeed a good score for a high school student.
But Nagumo knew what this number meant.
It meant he could never return to the past.
The strength of those fingers might be lost forever.
"Nagumo-senpai is amazing as expected!"
"Yeah, yeah, there aren't many in the second year who can exceed 60, right?"
Nagumo forced a smile.
But beneath that smile was bottomless fear and resentment.
He released the grip meter and stepped aside, letting the students behind him continue the test. The juniors around him were still excitedly discussing his score, their flattering words sounding particularly harsh at this moment.
61 kilograms.
He used to be able to easily grip over 70.
But now, using all his strength, he only dared to use seventy percent—the remaining thirty percent was suppressed firmly in his heart by fear.
"Nagumo-senpai, what's wrong with your hand?"
Another junior noticed he had been staring at his right hand. "Is it injured?"
"No."
Nagumo put his hand in his pocket.
"Didn't sleep well yesterday, a bit tired."
He turned around, pretending to look elsewhere nonchalantly.
But just then, a few first-year students passed by, discussing something loudly.
"Did you hear? That Subaru from Class C, grip strength 102 kilograms!"
"For real?! Is he even human?"
"And that Ayanokoji, also 102! Class C is going to defy the heavens!"
"Stop talking, the highest in our class is only 65, how can we compare..."
The voices gradually faded, but those words were like nails, driven into Nagumo's ears.
102 kilograms.
He froze in place.
102... kilograms?
He subconsciously looked down at his hand that was still aching faintly.
61.
102.
These two numbers contrasted repeatedly in his mind, slicing his nerves like two sharp knives.
He remembered the feeling of Subaru gripping his fingers that night.
That hand, like hydraulic pliers, locked him down firmly.
He struggled desperately, but it didn't budge.
One finger.
Two fingers.
Three fingers.
That sound of breaking bones, that piercing pain, that helpless despair.
If Subaru had wanted to kill him then...
He swallowed.
With a grip strength of 102 kilograms, crushing a person's throat would only take a few seconds.
No, maybe just one second.
No, no, no, this guy must be bluffing.
No matter how crazy he is, it's absolutely impossible for him to kill someone, right?
But why...
Why did this guy even know his family information?
Nagumo had previously used his ability to secretly contact his family outside the school.
And what terrified Nagumo the most was that the information Subaru spoke of was completely correct.
Even knowing what he ate for breakfast.
This made Nagumo feel fear.
What exactly was this guy's background?
Could it be that his background had even bought off his family?
A series of questions arose in Nagumo's heart.
At the other end of the gymnasium, Subaru had already walked far away.
Sunlight fell on his shoulders, warm and cozy.
His phone vibrated.
It was a message from Hiyori Shiina:
[Just saw the second-years go in.]
[Is your class's physical test over?]
[Mn.]
[Then hurry back and rest, the Sports Festival is coming up soon!]
At the end was a 'cheering' emoticon.
Subaru looked at the message, silent for a few seconds.
Then he replied:
[You too.]
[See you tomorrow.]
Putting away his phone, he continued walking forward.
Behind him, the noise of the second-year students drifted from the gymnasium.
Nagumo's fear, Ayanokoji's declaration of war, Kikyo Kushida's silence, Arisu Sakayanagi's calculations—
All these were temporarily left behind.
"Natsuki."
And just at this moment, another voice sounded from his side.
"Yes, Student Council President."
The owner of the voice was precisely Manabu Horikita.
"Is there something the matter?"
Subaru's gaze fell on Manabu.
"Nothing much, I just wanted to ask, did you meet with Nagumo again before the break?"
Manabu pushed his glasses, inquiring.
"Why ask this?"
"This vacation, Miyabi Nagumo was unexpectedly inactive, which surprised me somewhat."
Manabu said with a serious expression, "Previously, it seems someone saw Nagumo injured, but the source wasn't certain. Natsuki, do you know what happened?"
Manabu knew clearly that Nagumo was someone who cherished his body very much.
Something definitely happened.
Something beyond Nagumo's control.
Manabu believed that if there was anyone who could bring trouble of this magnitude to Nagumo, there was only one person.
Subaru.
"I know."
Subaru said slowly.
"What happened?"
"I snapped his fingers."
"What?"
Even the incredibly calm Manabu showed an expression of astonishment at this moment.
He couldn't be sure if what Subaru said was true.
And Subaru just smiled and shook his head:
"Maybe I'm just joking."
"Natsuki, Nagumo previously invited you to join the Student Council. I have invited you before as well. This invitation will always remain valid."
Manabu pushed his glasses again.
He didn't approve of Subaru's style of conduct, but he didn't deny Subaru's ability.
If he could get Subaru on the right path, it would be good.
"I'm not interested in that kind of thing."
"You don't look like someone afraid of trouble."
"I'm not afraid of trouble, but I don't like unnecessary trouble."
"Natsuki."
Manabu sighed, his gaze quickly returning to Subaru.
"I know you seem indifferent to other things, but the most important thing is not the result but the process. I hope you can leave your own mark in this school."
Manabu had always valued Subaru highly in his heart.
Perhaps Subaru would be angry hearing these words, but Manabu felt he had to say them.
He believed Subaru's talent could be above his own.
More importantly, Suzune Horikita seemed to be close to Subaru.
Manabu hoped his sister could grow by Subaru's side.
If anyone could change Suzune, it was only Subaru.
"Mn."
Subaru listened to Manabu's answer and nodded.
This surprised Manabu slightly.
The other's reaction was different from what he imagined.
By the time he came back to his senses, he found Subaru had already walked far away.
Evening.
In the Class C boys' dormitory, Ken Sudo lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Today's physical test was too big of a blow to him.
He had always thought he was the strongest in Class C, at least in terms of sports.
But today, he found he was nothing.
In every event, he was behind by a large margin.
"...Damn it."
He cursed in a low voice.
But strangely, he had no anger, nor unwillingness.
Only a strange sense of—relief?
Anyway, he couldn't compare, so he might as well admit defeat.
Anyway, with those two monsters in the class, the Sports Festival should be no problem, right?
He originally thought this was his chance to show off, but two inexplicable guys appeared.
Kiyotaka Ayanokoji should be indifferent; he wasn't a special person, just hiding his light under a bushel.
And Subaru was someone even Sudo dared not provoke.
Sudo rolled over and closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, he just had to do his best.
On the other side, in Yosuke Hirata's room, he sat at his desk, a Sports Festival event schedule spread out before him.
His brows were locked tight.
Today's performance by Subaru and Ayanokoji made him feel a deep unease.
Not because they were strong.
But because of that—confrontation between them.
That silent "dialogue" incomprehensible to bystanders.
They seemed to be competing.
Not today, not in the physical test, but in some place he didn't know, using methods he couldn't understand, conducting some kind of contest.
And tomorrow, the Sports Festival, would it become the stage for their rivalry?
If so, what would the class become?
He remembered the words Subaru had said.
"You are just living in a skin, Hirata. Without color, you cannot extinguish this fire at all."
Without color.
He indeed had no color.
He just used "gentleness" and "goodwill" to cover up the fear and hollowness in his heart.
But if the class was really dragged into the vortex of those two people—
What could he do?
He could do nothing.
Hirata lowered his head and covered his face with his hands.
Only after a long time did he raise his head and look at the project schedule again.
Afterwards, he could only do his best.
Kiyotaka Ayanokoji stood alone in front of the dormitory window, gazing at the night outside.
Every detail of today's physical test replayed in his mind.
Subaru's grip strength. Subaru's sprint. Subaru's long jump. Subaru's every movement.
And finally, that sentence Subaru said.
"Then try it."
Try.
Try what?
Try if he could make him generate color?
Try if he could make him go all out?
Try if he could—win against him?
Ayanokoji didn't know.
But he knew that from today on, he was no longer just an "observer."
He walked into the arena.
Walked into that bottomless vortex named "Natsuki Subaru."
The corner of his mouth moved slightly.
That was not a smile.
That was some kind of he had never experienced before, strange—anticipation.
____
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