The rain hammered the windows of Room 722, relentless.
Kenta leaned back in his chair, arms folded. "If the club won't help expose her, we'll take this straight to the faculty. It's the right thing to do. For the integrity of the Olympiad team."
Aria sat straight beside him, composed. "We're not bluffing. This can't slide."
They weren't asking anymore.
I stayed quiet. The cube sat heavy in my pocket.
Minji shifted in her seat. "Let's pause," she said, calmly. "Think this through first."
I rested my forehead against the glass's window. The cold bled through my skin. Warm air from the room fogged the pane that blurred the courtyard below.
Outside, the sound of the rain pulled me back.
Last spring, before the rezoning.
Back when we were still close.
Before the distance set in.
Hanni and I sprinted out of the corner store, snack bags in hand, as rain poured down unexpectedly.
She laughed and took off running, attacking the steep, uneven stone stairs to our secret spot recklessly. When her foot slipped on a wet step, she caught herself with a hand on the muddy bank, her knee banging against the edge.
Though she hissed in pain, she quickly laughed, not wanting me to worry. I grabbed her wrist, pulling her up, and she squeezed my hand before pulling away to continue dashing.
Her steps were all over the place—big splashes, uneven, and water flying everywhere. No careful pattern. Just forward, as fast as she could, pushing through to get us there first.
We finally reached the old acacia tree, its wide branches offering some cover from the rain.
She asked, "You okay?"
Her priority, even with mud on her knee and her chest heaving.
The memory settled in my chest, quiet but firm.
I couldn't see her fabricating and scheming like what they are telling us.
It's not her.
I turned back to the room.
Kenta's phone lay on the table, screen still lit. The photo stared up at me—grainy, blurred, but the details were sharp enough to land: the neat footprints, the clean braid, the smear of fog on the glass.
Everything lined up wrong.
Their whole story didn't hold. And now that I'd let myself look, the gaps came fast.
Kenta picked up his phone. Aria adjusted the strap of her bag. They shared a quick look and started to rise, already moving like the conversation was done.
I stopped them.
"Wait. Your story doesn't survive scrutiny," I said.
---
Minji inhaled sharply, like she was about to cut in.
Then she didn't.
I stepped forward, letting the momentum carry me. "Those footprints inside the lounge. They're too clean. Too close together."
Silence settled over the room.
"Someone rushing through rain doesn't step like that," I went on. "Strides stretch. Heels skid. Water splashes. This looks like someone walking carefully."
Kenta's gaze hardened, but I didn't stop.
"And the braid," I said, looking at Aria. "Hanni only started wearing it recently. Easy enough to copy if you're paying attention. But you said you saw it clearly. Through fogged glass. At night."
Aria's shoulders shifted, just a fraction.
"You said you wiped the fog and rain away." I tapped the window beside me. "From outside. Condensation forms on the warmer side. Inside. Wiping from out there wouldn't clear anything."
Aria paused. Then nodded—slow, thoughtful, like she was already rewriting the sentence in her head.
Kenta's smile came small—tight and not reaching his eyes.
"That's… helpful," he said.
The word hung odd in the air.
Aria glanced at him. "He's right about the fog. We can adjust that part."
Kenta's jaw flexed once, a sharp scoff escaping before he caught it. His fingers tightened on the phone, knuckles whitening for a beat too long.
Aria's hand brushed his sleeve—light, steadying. A silent pull-back.
My stomach dropped.
Kenta exhaled through his nose, the tension easing just enough for his voice to level out. "You're biased, Eiji. She's your clubmate." His smile thinned further. "And don't pretend no one's noticed how you look at her." He paused, letting it land. "This isn't logic. It's protection."
Aria crossed her arms, composure sliding back into place like armor. "We'll clarify things with Mr. Goh. Make the timeline cleaner."
The shape of it snapped into place.
I hadn't shut them down.
I just helped them polish their story.
Minji stepped in, voice even but edged. "You're framing someone to keep your positions. You think that ends well?"
Kenta shrugged, almost bored. "Why not? She's a sophomore outperforming us. We're third-years with promises to keep. We secure this, we keep ES1. Resources. Status. Everything." His eyes slid away. "She's the variable."
Aria didn't flinch. "She shouldn't be in the group in the first place."
They stood in a calm manner.
"We'll handle it," Kenta said.
The door shut behind them with a soft, final click.
The rain outside had eased—no longer pounding, just clinging to the glass in slow, stubborn streaks.
I stayed where I was, hollowed out.
---
The door's echo faded. Room 722 felt bigger all of a sudden.
The cube stayed buried in my pocket. I didn't take it out. Didn't twist, didn't click. The familiar urge was there, but my hand wouldn't move.
They'd walked out calmer than they came in, like the meeting had gone exactly as planned.
Minji didn't speak right away. She watched me, arms loose at her sides, giving the silence room.
I swallowed. "I... messed up."
The words scraped out rough.
She nodded once with no hesitation.
"Yeah," she said. "You did."
Hanni's face surfaced—uninvited, unavoidable. The one from the library aisle earlier. Eyes ringed with shadows. Voice roughened by repetition.
If this story reached the faculty polished and smooth, I'd have been the one to help them make it that way—my logic had found the cracks, laid them bare, and then handed the blueprint straight to the wrong people.
"Eiji."
Minji's voice cut through the loop.
"Logic finds the cracks," she said. "It doesn't decide who gets to fill them."
She kept her arms loose, face still. Didn't soften her tone. Didn't sharpen it either.
Just let the words sit there between us.
"They're heading to Mr. Goh," she went on. "We move now. And this time—" Her gaze held mine, steady. "We don't give them anything for free."