The cafeteria at Aethelgard wasn't a place for food; it was a theater, and the curtain had just risen on my most difficult performance yet.
As I walked through the double oak doors, the ambient noise dropped exactly three decibels. In a school of elites, silence was the loudest form of gossip. Every eye that drifted toward me asked the same question: Is the "Perfect VP" finally losing his grip?
"Ryu-kun! Over here!"
Yuna Sato waved me over with a smile that could solve a national debt. She was the quintessential "Class A" anchor—bright, curated, and perfectly positioned at the center table. She was the one who kept the "normies" in line, and right now, she was my most visible shield.
I navigated the maze of tables, offering a nod here and a quick, witty comment there. It was the method—sincere enough to be liked, but calculated enough to be respected. By the time I reached our table, I had already defused three potential rumors just by looking unbothered.
"You're late," Yuna pouted, sliding a chilled bottle of peach tea toward me. Her eyes, sharp behind that bubbly exterior, searched mine. "The forums are saying you looked 'shaken' after Hana-san's little declaration yesterday. Care to provide a counter-narrative?"
I took a seat, leaning back with a lazy smirk. "Shaken? I was just impressed by her choice of font. It takes a lot of confidence to use Helvetica for a declaration of war."
A few people at the table laughed, the tension breaking instantly. If I was joking, the situation wasn't dire.
"Friction is fine for the fans," a voice drawled from my left.
Kenjiro, the captain of the Kendo team, didn't look up from his protein bowl. He was the 'muscle' of our group—sharp-jawed and perpetually bored, but he was the guy I actually played games with until 3 AM. "But she's targeting the discretionary funds, Ryu. My team's spring retreat is in that budget. If she wins and 'Transparency' becomes the law, we're all going to be living like monks. Fix it."
I watched him. Kenjiro wasn't being greedy; he was worried about the "status" he had earned. He was looking at me to protect his world.
"The budget is a fortress, Ken," I said, my voice dropping to a smooth, reassuring tone. "Hana Mizuki is playing a game of logic. But Aethelgard runs on atmosphere. As long as we keep the 'mood' of Class A stable, her logic has nowhere to land. I'll handle the audit."
"Spoken like a true king," Yuna teased, though her hand lingered on my sleeve for a second too long—a silent gesture of support.
As I stood up, I caught a flash of rose-pink hair by the window. Hana Mizuki was sitting alone. She wasn't performing. She was calculating. I felt the weight of the "Social Tax" pressing down. Being the perfect lead meant I had to keep everyone at this table happy, while she only had to be right once.