Chapter 2: Ibuki Mio has Surprisingly Good Sense

Chapter 2: Ibuki Mio has Surprisingly Good Sense

Chapter 2:

Ibuki Mio has

Surprisingly Good Sense

“S pecial test.” Those words would normally mean a written exam, or some kind of athletic trial. However, at the Advanced Nurturing High School, special tests weren’t trivial affairs. A contest of survival on an uninhabited island. A battle of wits aboard a cruise ship. Those outlandish tests came one after another during our summer vacation.

Between the two tests, I, a mere first-year student, had only seven days of actual rest. That included today. Soon, the second semester would begin. I’d spent the days off rather simply. I didn’t call anyone, and no one called me. In other words, it had been lonely.

“Well, I don’t really care,” I said aloud.

The freedom was enough. I wouldn’t ask for more. Having too many friends wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

The more people I connected with, the more troublesome it would become to manage all those relationships. If a friend called me, I might have been thoroughly overjoyed. But there was also a chance that I wouldn’t have been.

Even alone, there were many things for me to do. I was doing one of those things today: using my phone to check my remaining point balance (106,219 points).

I transferred 100,000 of those points to someone from my class—Sudou Ken. Soon afterwards, Sudou called me.

“Yo, Ayanokouji. What are you doing right now?” he asked.

“Nothing much. Was just thinking about what to have for dinner.”

“Gotcha. I just ate some chicken tenders a little while ago. Pretty basic stuff. Tastes all right, but I’d definitely get tired of them if I ate them too often, so I try to change things up a bit. I can fry ’em, boil ’em… Wait, what the hell am I talking about? I wanted to talk to you about fortune-telling.”

Fortune-telling? I never expected those words to come out of Sudou’s mouth. He was the sort of guy who saw the world in black and white. He liked simplicity, like the chicken he just ate.

“Truth is, I’ve heard there’s this crazy-accurate fortune-teller over at the Keyaki Mall, but they’re only gonna be there during summer vacation. I guess it’s big among the seniors. Even when I’m doing club stuff, all anyone talks about is that fortune-teller. I got some extra cash, so I felt like having some fun, you know? Let’s check it out together. My treat, of course.”

The Keyaki Mall was a complex on the school grounds that students often went to. Because students were forced to live on the school grounds, the school was equipped with all sorts of facilities, although it couldn’t give us all the options of the outside world. We didn’t have idol concerts, amusement parks, or zoos. Our world was small. When something new cropped up, it naturally became a hot topic among the students.

Even so, fortune-telling was unexpected.

Since no one had invited me to hang out in a long, long time, I couldn’t hide my happiness. “When are we going?”

“Tomorrow morning. Sounds like it starts at ten, but apparently, if you don’t get in line early, you’ll be waiting forever. I wanted to get there around 9:30,” said Sudou. Apparently, he’d already planned out a schedule.

“I’m fine with that, since I don’t have plans. But will your club be cool with it?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow’s my day off. The tournament ended, so it’s fine. Besides, we’ve done nothing but train our butts off. If they don’t let us rest a little, our bodies will fall apart,” he told me matter-of-factly.

Sudou had just played in a basketball tournament. Even though I saw him quietly practicing day after day in preparation, I was admittedly kind of curious about the tournament’s results. One more thing to think about.

“Did you have any trouble at all?” I asked.

I made sure to stress the word “trouble.” Sudou understood what I was referring to.

“Yeah. It was pretty tough. I mean, they supervise you way more—you have the team captain and the coach watching you. It’s nothing like playing in junior high. I can’t open my mouth at all, except when we need to talk during a game. The school puts a ton of restrictions on us, even on bathroom breaks. I thought it was going to be impossible,” Sudou said.

Even though club activities were separate from coursework, the school rules were still strict.

“Anyway, it all worked out. I did pretty well, ’cause I got the chops,” he added.

“I see. Well, that’s a relief. What about Yamauchi?” I asked.

“I made sure to delete the data before heading back,” Sudou said, once again referring to our secret business. “I wouldn’t worry. I mean, even I’m not that dumb.”

Sudou’s school life rode on this. He probably wouldn’t do anything reckless. Even so, it might be a good idea to get in touch with Yamauchi later, to confirm that the data was successfully deleted. Just in case.

“By the way, did you actually get to play in the big game?” I asked.

“Yeah. I was the only one out of all the first years to play. I even scored. We still lost in the end, though, so I’m not exactly that proud.”

I didn’t really understand the intricacies, but a first-year student playing in a game like that seemed like a pretty big deal. I sensed acceptance, rather than frustration, from Sudou. He’d probably practiced hard for the tournament, and saw this as steadily making progress.

He had to have practiced hard, since the first-year students left the school grounds to participate in those special exams. That meant Sudou had had less time to practice than the older students.

“So, what are you gonna do? Fortune-telling—you gonna go or not?”

“Well, I don’t really have anything planned. So, sure, I’ll go.”

Now that I’d agreed, Sudou cut straight to the chase. “Definitely invite Suzune out, too. Definitely. Understand?” he said.

“I see,” I answered.

Apparently, Sudou didn’t actually want to go see the fortune teller with me, but rather, with Horikita. He probably knew that, if he invited her himself, his chances of success were rather slim.

“Well, it’s just… I can’t imagine that she’s interested in fortune-telling,” I added.

“Even so, invite her. This is like your one special skill, right?”

What kind of special skill? I really wish he’d quit trying to use me as some kind of Horikita Invitation Machine.

“Well, I’ll give it a shot. But don’t expect anything,” I said.

“Giving it a shot isn’t good enough,” he answered.

“Not good enough?”

Sudou’s emphatic words contained traces of anger. He seemed to plan on Horikita definitely being there tomorrow.

“You absolutely need to do it. If you don’t invite Horikita out, there’s no point,” he told me.

“Look, I don’t know what plans she might have tomorrow. And I don’t know if she even has any interest in fortune-telling. Wouldn’t it be easier to invite her to go shopping or check out a film festival?”

“There’s nothing to worry about. All girls love fortune-telling,” he answered.

That was an extremely broad generalization. I couldn’t really imagine Horikita showing any curiosity about things that ordinary girls liked.

“Got it? Later, after you invite her, get in touch with me. Okay? You gotta.”

With that, Sudou abruptly ended the call. I’d thought it was strange for Sudou to invite me to check out a fortune-teller. Well, it seemed as though he was really after Horikita. While I did feel a little disappointed, I needed to call Horikita right away. If Sudou found out later that I ignored his request, it would be a huge headache.

Horikita answered her phone immediately.

“Hey, Horikita. Do you like fortune-telling?” I asked.

If there was one woman in the whole world capable of destroying anyone’s preconceived notion that all girls liked fortune-telling, it was Horikita.

“You open conversations in the strangest way,” she answered.

True. But I didn’t really have anything else to say. “You’ll be saving me if you give me an answer.”

“So, if I don’t answer you, there’s a possibility that you won’t be saved?” she asked.

That was certainly a possibility. The image of Sudou putting me in a headlock stuck in my mind.

“So, are you going to save me?” I asked.

“If you’re comfortable owing me one,” she answered.

I’d have to owe her one just for answering a question? I was filled with the urge to hit the “end call” button, but I pictured Sudou’s angry face and resisted.

“Fine. If you answer me, I’ll owe you,” I told her.

Horikita, realizing her answer’s value, paused for a moment. “I see. Well, I’m not exactly an enthusiast or anything, but it would be a lie to say I dislike fortune-telling.”

This was unexpected. “Have you ever had your fortune told before?” I asked.

“Of course I haven’t. I’ve simply noticed horoscopes and such in the morning news.”

She was probably talking about the daily horoscope things that were usually based on your birth month. I had a hard time picturing Horikita as the type of girl who would go change her clothes, or buy new accessories, if someone on TV said her lucky colors were red and white.

“Are you addicted to getting your fortune told, by chance?” she asked.

“No, that’s not it. There’ve been some rumors going around lately about a fortune-teller. Have you heard?”

“A fortune-teller?” Horikita fell silent for a while, then eventually answered in a tone that sounded as though she understood. “Yes, there does seem to be quite the uproar. I’ve heard about it.”

“Well, I was a little curious. They say that the fortunes are really accurate, so I was wondering how accurate. But I can’t honestly imagine that something like fortune-telling would be so spot-on.”

I expected her to agree with me, but she apparently held a different opinion.

“Indeed? I think that someone with real power could be accurate.”

“No way. You’d have to be psychic,” I replied. The power to predict the future by reading a person’s face or hands, or based on their birthdate? That was ridiculous, and I didn’t believe it existed.

“No, that’s not what I mean. Fortune-tellers don’t have the power to divine the future. That’s obvious, isn’t it? That would be as foolish as someone saying that they believe in ghosts. However, the big difference between fortune-tellers and psychics is that fortune-tellers give readings based on a massive amount of past data. In other words, they interpret patterns to understand people.”

Horikita wasn’t a fanciful girl. Her answer was grounded in logic and reason.

“In other words, you’re talking about fortune-tellers’ ability to cold read, right?” I asked.

“You’re rather cheeky, but I guess you do know some things.” Horikita sounded slightly amused. “We can’t evaluate ourselves objectively. However, a good fortune-teller can extract information from the person they’re reading through a short conversation. They can pick up on things that the person themselves hasn’t noticed. Don’t you think so?”

Cold reading. Quite literally, that term meant reading someone’s mind without prior preparation. It referred to a technique which extracted information through casual conversation, and thus, gave the person being read the impression that you knew more than you did. You used observation and deduction to obtain information about your target, then made the person believe that you could see their past and future. It sounded simple, but actually, being able to extract information without the mark noticing was incredibly difficult. It required a high degree of skill.

“I’m a little interested,” I admitted.

“That’s good. I think you should go,” Horikita said.

“How about you come along?”

“Are you joking?”

“No, I’m quite serious.”

“I refuse,” she answered.

She’d shot me down instantly, but I couldn’t just accept that. “I’m a total novice when it comes to fortune-telling. I thought it’d be good to have you along, Horikita, so I understand better.”

“Sorry, but I’ll pass. You know I don’t enjoy dealing with crowds, right?”

That was certainly true. Fortune-telling was so popular, a lot of very excited students were bound to be there. Some adults from campus might go, too. I certainly couldn’t imagine Horikita wanting to enter a crowded place like that.

If I pushed any further, I’d probably just end up souring Horikita’s mood. As far as I was concerned, I’d received her message loud and clear. Sudou probably wouldn’t be that big a problem, anyway. Probably.

After I ended the call, I shot him a brief message. I immediately noticed the “read” marker pop up. Shortly afterward, I received a disgruntled reply.

“Then forget about it,” the message read.

I existed only as a means for Sudou to invite Horikita. Since I’d failed to invite her, Sudou had no further use for me. Well, it probably would’ve been a little weird for two dudes to see a fortune-teller together.

“Even so… A fortune-teller, huh?” I murmured aloud.

After that conversation with Horikita, my interest was piqued. I decided to head over tomorrow and check the fortune-teller out.

2.1

W ho in their right mind thought it’d be a good idea to go see a fortune-teller?

“I might have messed up,” I muttered.

The intense late-August heat blazed down upon me. I saw a shimmering heat haze ahead, above the concrete, and through the roadside trees. The dorm rooms came equipped with air conditioning, so we didn’t feel the heat much indoors. However, it was summer, and in direct sunlight, you instantly started sweating buckets.

The heat reduced people to complete lumps. I desperately sought out shade. Fortunately, the school boasted a rather expansive campus littered with tons of trees.

It was 9:30 A.M., well before most student activities, as I made my way towards the fabled fortune-teller. Fortune-telling services were supposed to begin at ten, but I didn’t plan to stick around for long. I’d quickly get my fortune read, then leave just as quickly. That was my plan.

But, as I neared my destination, I realized that my plans were about to be shattered.

I expected Keyaki Mall to be nearly empty. Instead, numerous students lounged around in their summer clothes. I prayed that they weren’t all there for the same reason I was, but I suspected they were. I decided to at least escape the blazing hellscape by entering the building, and started looking for the elevator, since the fortune-teller was on the fifth floor.

“Geh.”

I let out a grumble. Nearly ten students were hanging around in front of the elevator. I wondered if any of them would understand my plight. Whenever I took elevators alone, I was the sort to push the “close” button repeatedly. I wasn’t good at riding elevators with large groups of people my age. I’d need a great deal of courage to mingle with that crowd.

Although it’d be inconvenient, I decided to take a detour and get on a different elevator. Another elevator, across the way, was far less crowded.

“Calm down,” I muttered.

Getting to the other elevator took more time and effort, but the peace of mind it brought me was a lifesaver. After I reached the fifth floor, I made my way toward the fortune-teller. However, an even more uncomfortable situation awaited me.

“There are couples everywhere.”

Boys and girls stood in pairs all over. A number of them seemed to be in relationships. Of course, there were groups of only boys and only girls, but those were far fewer.

Seeing a fortune-teller about a couple’s future and romantic compatibility was common, I supposed. However, it made this visit significantly more awkward than I’d anticipated. Not many people had come alone to have their fortune told. Single guys were fewer still.

In any case, a line was forming. I decided to queue up. When I did so, a woman scanning the area called out to me.

“Good morning. Will your partner be joining you later?” she asked.

“Partner? Uh, no, it’s just me.”

Of course, it wasn’t exactly odd for her to ask me that question, but she’d put it rather strangely. I wished she’d be more sensitive to single people.

“Umm…” The line attendant looked at me with a sheepish expression. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid that, in order to have your fortune read today, you need a partner. So…”

“I can’t have my fortune read if I’m alone?”

She gave a small nod and pointed at a written notice.

“ Guidance is for couples only. We humbly ask for your understanding .”

I now saw why Sudou had insisted on inviting Horikita. He and Horikita would’ve had to line up together and talk to each other.

“That means he never wanted me along, from the very start,” I muttered.

Sudou’s behavior took on an entirely different meaning, now. He’d never really wanted to invite me. He probably would’ve found some excuse to send me packing once he had Horikita to himself. That was pretty sad.

“Out of curiosity, is the rule the same for the line next to me?” I asked.

“Yes. Ukon-sensei is only reading fortunes for couples,” the woman answered.

“I understand.”

I bowed my head and slipped out of the line. The students behind me advanced one step forward.

I couldn’t believe I’d fallen for something like this. I’d pictured a lone woman sitting on a street corner, being paid in small coins, but reality had other plans. Apparently, this sort of romantic divination was all the rage right now. I would’ve liked to try the fortune-teller’s services, but there was nothing I could really do. Trying to invite Horikita again would have been a waste of time.

I decided to just slink away quietly.

“Huh? So, I can’t have my fortune read alone?”

I heard an angry voice. Another victim of singleness was apparently standing in the next line. Feeling somewhat sympathetic, I glanced over. Unfortunately, I caught that person’s eye.

“Ah.”

It was Ibuki Mio, a Class C student. When I pretended I hadn’t seen her, she chased after me. I quickened my pace.

“Wait!” Perhaps Ibuki thought that I was trying to run away (which I certainly was). She grabbed me by the shoulder.

“Do you want something?” I asked.

“Where’s Horikita?”

She looked around as she asked this. Ibuki was sort of like Sudou; she saw me as little more than a Horikita whisperer. I wished she’d just go see Horikita directly and not involve me.

“It’s not like I’m with her all the time or anything. I’m alone today,” I said.

“Ah, I see.”

During the deserted island test, Ibuki had been sent to infiltrate Class D. Her mission was to spy on us and stir up chaos, and she and Horikita ended up trading blows in a fistfight. Since then, Ibuki had been rather hostile toward Horikita. She probably considered them archenemies.

Although Ibuki was her usual crabby, unsociable self, she had pretty good fashion sense. She looked great. With a slightly different attitude, she could have been popular.

“Fortune-telling is usually something you do one-on-one, isn’t it? I really didn’t expect this at all. Don’t you agree?” she asked.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought, anyway.”

“So, are you going to invite Horikita or something?”

First Sudou, now Ibuki. It seemed like Horikita was the sole topic of conversation whenever I was involved.

“No, I’m not. If you want to talk to Horikita, why don’t you reach out to her yourself? Try telling her that you want to go have your fortunes read together.”

“Huh? Absolutely not. It’s not like I have anything to talk to her about.”

If that’s true, then I really wish you’d stop bringing her up.

“I wasn’t really that interested in having my fortune read in the first place, so I’m fine. How about you?” I asked.

“I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t annoyed, but…” Ibuki shook her head in frustration. “Well, I don’t really have any choice but to give up. I’m bad at making conversation, anyway.”

That answer sounded fishy. Ibuki said she was bad at conversation, but unlike Sakura, she had never struck me as a person who struggled with that kind of thing. In fact, she seemed comfortable talking to me on equal terms—or comfortable being condescending, at least.

“You could invite Ryuuen,” I offered.

I said that half-jokingly, but Ibuki shot me a scornful glare packed with disgust. “You’re joking, right? I hate seeing his face, even when I have to. I’d rather avoid him during my holidays.”

“But you were always together back on the ship, weren’t you? Isn’t it normal to think that you two might be close?” I pointed out.

Ibuki looked away. “That was because it was my fault that I didn’t discover Class D’s leader,” she answered quietly.

If that were true, Ibuki had only been working with Ryuuen to atone for her failure. That didn’t explain everything, but I supposed only Class C knew the real reason. That said, Ibuki had learned our leader’s identity during the survival challenge on the island. She discovered that Horikita was the leader, and she hadn’t been wrong. She would have contributed significantly to her class if I hadn’t thwarted her.

“I wanted to ask. During the survival test, who was Class D’s leader?”

“Who knows?” I shrugged.

“‘Who knows?’ It’s not like you don’t know.”

“Even if I did, I couldn’t tell you. Honestly, I don’t know. Most of us in Class D have no idea. I think Horikita acted in secret, and somehow managed to pull everything off on her own. That’s the only way I can explain what happened.”

Ibuki seemed to look right through me. However, I wasn’t the sort of person to be easily exposed.

“If Ryuuen’s not an option, why don’t you invite a girl from your class? I’m sure you must have a friend or two,” I said.

“If I did, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I absolutely despise the girls in my class,” she answered.

Ibuki was just like Horikita. Actually, she was probably even more antisocial than Horikita. With the right opportunity, the two might get along.

“You know, you’re making conversation with me just fine right now. Shouldn’t you be able to talk to anyone else, too? I don’t think you’re bad at dealing with people,” I said.

“That’s not true. When you talk to me, you feel something, don’t you? I’m all prickly.”

“Well, yeah. I guess so.” Interacting with Ibuki always made me feel like meat being sliced by a sharp knife. That was the closest I could come to describing her desire for isolation. I’m sure other students felt the same way.

“No matter what I do, the mood always seems to turn sour. Understand?” she asked.

I still had my doubts about Ibuki actually being bad at making conversation, but she was undoubtedly standoffish, even with her own classmates. I could imagine her headstrong attitude challenging the fortune-teller.

“If you’re bad at communicating, I’m surprised you’d want to get your fortune read.”

“That’s the problem. I’m like someone who loves cats, but has an allergy,” she answered.

That certainly sounded frustrating. “But you did really well spying on Class D,” I replied.

Crabby and unsociable as she might be, Ibuki hadn’t seemed at all disagreeable while she was working as a spy. Our class had accepted her without suspicion.

“That’s different. In any case, talking to people makes me anxious. And when I’m anxious, it puts me on edge. I hate it. It’s not like I want to be this way—wait, why am I even telling you this? People might get the wrong impression about us!”

Flustered, Ibuki abruptly turned away. Really, that should’ve been my line. Everyone who’d been queueing near us had moved ahead, and it was just the two of us. The other students might easily have misinterpreted that.

So, talking to people made Ibuki anxious, huh? If that were true, the solution might be unexpectedly easy. Even if I didn’t know the root cause of her anxiety, I could work with this.

“Earlier, you said that being a spy was different, didn’t you?” I asked.

“Yeah. Because it’s a fact.”

“What’s the difference between then and now?”

Ibuki fell silent for a little while. “I don’t know. It’s just different,” she said finally. It seemed like she’d given up on trying to articulate the difference.

“You haven’t given it much thought,” I said.

“Well, it’s not like I can explain why they’re different. I was just acting.”

“No, I think it’s simple. The difference between you now, and you then, is awareness.”

“Awareness?” Ibuki turned toward me, her interest slightly piqued.

“Your anxiety comes from being hyper-aware of situations. You project your insecurities onto others, so you freeze up when you meet someone for the first time,” I explained.

“What are you talking about? I mean, maybe it’s different for people who are good at communicating, but pretty much everyone gets nervous when they meet someone for the first time, don’t they?”

“Of course. I’m the same way. But would you still feel nervous if you were talking to the clerk at a convenience store?” I asked.

“Huh?”

“The clerk at a convenience store you visit often. ‘Do you have a point card? Would you like that warmed up?’ You don’t get anxious when the clerk asks you those questions, right?”

“Well, th-that’s…” she stammered.

If you thought of communication as a skill, like athleticism, it was simple. You had to train your talents. Ibuki got nervous because she was acutely aware of who she was talking to . I wonder what they think of me. I want them to like me. I hope they’re a good person.

When Ibuki infiltrated Class D, she probably didn’t have time to consider those things. She was playing a part, not thinking about how people would react to her real self. And she usually gave off an outcast vibe anyway, which worked as the perfect disguise.

“I suppose, when you put it that way, you have a point,” she muttered.

“You were ready to talk to the fortune-teller face-to-face. It’s natural to feel anxious, but there’s no reason to. If you don’t think about communication too hard, that should relieve some of the tension.”

“I see. Wait, why the hell are you lecturing me?” Ibuki glared, looking ready to pounce.

“When you’ve been a loner for a long time, you understand these kinds of things. You wonder why you can’t make friends, and you think about the differences between the people who make you nervous and those who don’t. Finally, you think about where people come from and where they’re going.”

“You’re creepy. You seem like the sort who’ll turn out to be a mass murderer later in life. Were you always like this?” Ibuki asked.

“More or less.”

Things had veered into rather awkward territory. I probably came across as a weirdo.

“Well, I’m heading back. How about you?” I asked.

“I’ll probably head back, too. I can have my fortune read alone, anyway. I was really interested in tenchuusatsu , though,” she said.

“ Tenchuusatsu ?”

That wasn’t exactly the kind of word you heard all that often.

“Wait. You came without even knowing what that is?” Ibuki sighed in exasperation. “Put simply, it’s a type of fortune-telling that tells you what times are unlucky for you.”

Was it really possible to pinpoint an aspect of someone’s destiny like that? My knowledge of fortune-telling was limited to superstitions like “wear the color red,” and “be careful not to lose something this month.” However, Ibuki made it sound like there was far more to fortune-telling.

“That’s why I came. Fortune-telling isn’t all about romance and such.” Ibuki sounded disappointed as she looked back at the long line.

“Maybe some of them came here to check out tenchuusatsu , or whatever it’s called,” I replied.

“Even so, I get the feeling that the romance stuff is what they’re after, since the fortune-teller is forcing us to visit in pairs,” she replied.

And with that, Ibuki left.

2.2

A fter I returned to my dorm room, I did some research into tenchuusatsu . It was an incredibly deep subject. Before 1980, tenchuusatsu had been something of a hot topic worldwide. However, as its popularity boomed, people started to doubt its credibility. There was a news story about a famous fortune-teller who was forced to retire after he dropped tenchuusatsu .

Fortune-telling might have some value, even if depending too much on it was bad. From a true believer’s perspective, it probably seemed fairly accurate.

With that thought in mind, curiosity overcame me. Yet I couldn’t believe what I read online. It was impossible to divine the future. I wanted to try tenchuusatsu out for myself, to see if it was a lie. I wanted what the fortune-teller was doing to be simply an extension of cold reading.

“I wonder if tenchuusatsu is only being offered this month?” I muttered.

Apparently, the fortune-teller’s crew was leaving when summer vacation ended. There was no information on whether they’d return. A fortune-teller might never visit this school again.

I didn’t have anyone to invite. I was completely out of options. Horikita would just turn me down if I asked, and I didn’t have the courage to invite Kushida. I felt like Sakura would probably come with me, but if I brought her to a place positively teeming with couples, it’d make her uncomfortable. After that were the guys, like Sudou, Ike, and Yamauchi, but they probably didn’t want to spend their few precious remaining days of summer vacation getting their fortunes read with another dude.

“I’m stuck, huh?”

Besides, I didn’t like this couples-only requirement. Ibuki and I agreed on that. It seemed like a huge turn-off for people with a genuine interest in fortune-telling. I gave up and stopped my online research.

2.3

T he day after I’d given up, though, I found myself moving toward the fortune-teller again.

“Ah.”

Yet another bizarre meeting; fate had reunited me with Ibuki. We happened upon the same place at the exact same time.

“Why did you come here again? And by yourself?” Ibuki looked disgusted. I got the impression that I thoroughly repulsed her.

“I could ask you the same question,” I countered.

“Well, I said that I like fortune-telling, didn’t I? I thought maybe I could have my fortune read, even if I’m alone,” she replied.

So, Ibuki came here hoping the rules had changed since yesterday. I wondered if she really did like fortune-telling that much, and if so, which part.

“I’m going to ask you something directly. Ibuki, do you believe in fortune-telling?” I asked.

“Are you saying I shouldn’t?”

“No. But it’s generally not something people start to believe in all of a sudden, right?”

Not everyone understood that fortune-telling was the mere application of techniques such as cold reading. Many genuinely believed in divination’s mysterious power.

“I suppose a lot of people start out thinking that way. But if you can’t move past that, fortune-telling’s probably not for you,” Ibuki said.

“So, you’re saying that nonbelievers aren’t qualified to have their fortunes read?”

“No, that’s not it. Let me put it this way. It’s not like I believe in fortune-telling unconditionally. However, people who are overly skeptical from the very start won’t get anything out of it. People who make fun of fortune-telling often lead lives riddled with contradictions themselves. They’ll say they don’t believe in kami or in Buddha, for instance—but when they’re in trouble, they call on a higher power for help, don’t they?”

That was a good argument. Gods didn’t exist, and neither did things like ghosts. Yet many who made caustic statements like “God doesn’t exist” would still visit shrines to bring in good fortune for the New Year. They’d pray for freedom from disease, success in business, or fulfillment in love. They’d clasp their hands and say, “Please, Kami-sama, listen to my prayers.”

What you believed in and what you wished for were infinitely different, and no one could deny that.

That said, fortune-telling wasn’t the same as the existence of a higher power. Fortune-tellers were just people, like you or me. Really, I couldn’t help but be skeptical.

“Do you understand?” Ibuki asked.

“Yeah.”

I still had lingering doubts, but I got the gist. I decided to make a suggestion.

“The fortune-teller only offers readings to pairs, but they’re not only reading for romance, right?” I asked.

“Yes, obviously.”

“In that case, why don’t we go together? We’re both genuinely interested in fortune-telling. If we’re not in a relationship that might have future complications, I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

I honestly felt absolutely nothing for Ibuki. My emotions were a flat line, neither good nor bad. It was like dealing with a first-time customer in a store.

“Well, I don’t mind. I would like to have my fortune read, after all. Are you okay with this?” she asked.

“Even if Horikita were here, she’s only a friend.”

“That’s not what I meant. Some students still hold a bit of a grudge toward me because of what happened on the island.”

Ibuki was looking out for me, in a way. She was worried that, if my classmates saw us together, they might resent me.

“I don’t think you really need to worry about that.”

Ibuki craned her neck like she was puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“If everyone at this school got along, then yes, what you did would be considered a massive moral violation. However, the school believes that ability is everything. Besides, the classes were competing against one another. Spying and sabotage were natural tactics to employ under the circumstances. Am I wrong?”

“But a lot of people operate based on feelings, rather than logic, and they won’t be convinced of that. Not everyone’s quite as mentally flexible.”

“I don’t think people like that would be admitted to this school in the first place.”

Ibuki crossed her arms and looked deep in thought for a moment. “You’re surprisingly shameless, aren’t you?”

“All I am is an unremarkable student. I have no interest in either trying to crawl my way up the ladder or being kicked off it. If working with a student like Horikita lets me coast by, then I’m lucky.”

“That’s not uncommon, though. Every student in this school has their eye on the special privileges that come with graduation. But no one foresaw that the school would make us compete like this, so I’m sure most students are bewildered.”

Apparently, Class C students weren’t really that different from Class D. That probably meant that Ibuki, who’d caught Ryuuen’s eye early on, must be formidable. In fact, after her identity as the spy was discovered, Ibuki was at Ryuuen’s side on several occasions. She said that she was only helping him to make up for her failure, but it seemed like he trusted her, at least to some degree.

Ibuki and I both got in line. The clerk I’d run into the other day came by once again to confirm that we were a pair, then handed us tickets. There were eight couples ahead of us.

“Looks like we’ll be waiting for a while,” I sighed.

If only one fortune-teller was available, Ibuki and I would have to wait longer than an hour, even if they managed the time efficiently. How would the two of us endure that? I probably couldn’t carry on a conversation for that long.

“We’re only together to have our fortunes read, so we don’t really need to make pointless chit-chat, right?” Ibuki asked me.

“I guess you have a point,” I answered.

She’d picked up on what I was thinking. Good. I’d been saved a lot of hassle.

2.4

“N ext, please.”

It was the middle of the afternoon when I heard that small voice come out of the temporary tent.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

In the end, fortune-telling for each pair took approximately fifteen minutes, which forced Ibuki and me to stand in line for even longer than anticipated. Just as I started to wonder if I even cared about fortune-telling anymore, I passed through a curtain and entered the room where the fortune-teller waited.

When I entered, I found a chamber that looked like something out of a television show. It was dark inside, probably around 30 lux. The fortune-teller appeared to be an elderly woman, but a hood obscured her face, so I couldn’t make out her expression. She sat with a thick book, the contents of which I couldn’t guess, and some kind of crystal ball. It looked like one of those balls you chuck around in the hammer throw in track and field.

This was excellent atmosphere.

The crystal ball immediately began to glow, as if it would reflect my and Ibuki’s futures. There were two backless seats in front of the fortune-teller. When we sat down, the fortune-teller chuckled lightly and moved her right hand.

“First…you must pay,” she commanded.

She pulled out a small card reader from under the table and placed it before us. Such a product of modern civilization felt out of place, especially in contrast to the scene around me. Not that I expected the reading to be free, of course.

“What kind of fortune are you going to read?” asked Ibuki, presenting her student ID card.

“It can be about your academics, career, love life, or anything you like,” the fortune-teller answered with an unsettling grin. The expression lent itself nicely to the atmosphere, but she seemed less like a fortune-teller, and more like a witch.

The list of prices she showed us seemed oddly mismatched. They were separated into several categories. The “Basic Plan” package seemed to include the services the fortune-teller had already mentioned. There were several packages, one of which seemed to be related to tenchuusatsu . There were even options that let you see the end of your life. Of course, since this was a couples’ activity, many options were related to romance.

I wondered what a couple would do if the fortune-teller divined that they had poor romantic compatibility. Regardless, every option was rather expensive. We’d be spending well over 5,000 points.

“It’s a lot of money,” I sighed.

For a Class D student like me, who struggled with points daily, this was a tough pill to swallow. Even so, it probably would’ve been pointless to go home without finding out more about tenchuusatsu . I could just listen to Ibuki’s fortune and head back, but then I wouldn’t know how reliable the fortune-teller was.

Just in case, I checked my private points balance on my phone. I had roughly 6,000 points remaining: barely enough.

“I’ll do the Basic Plan,” said Ibuki.

Despite her unexpected interest in fortune-telling, she didn’t seem to want a detailed fortune.

“And you?” asked the fortune-teller.

“I’ll take the same,” I replied.

It felt as though I was placing an order at a restaurant. I presented my student ID card, and the card reader beeped, indicating that it had deducted points.

“Very well, let’s start with the young lady. What’s your name?”

“Ibuki. Ibuki Mio,” she answered flatly.

“When I tell fortunes, I see the face, the hand, and then the heart of the person I’m reading. I may see something that you won’t like. Are you prepared for that?” asked the fortune-teller.

“Do whatever you want,” Ibuki replied.

I saw a bit of the fortune-teller’s wrinkled skin under her hood, along with the sharp gleam in her eye. She instructed Ibuki to extend both hands, then revealed her fortune.

“First, a palm reading. You have a long lifeline. You have a long, long life to look forward to. I cannot see you suffering any major illness so far,” the fortune-teller began.

A typical start. I couldn’t imagine that a person could divine such things just by looking at the lines on someone’s palm. Maybe the fortune-teller based her readings off personal experiences?

If it were me, I’d simply base my answer on the customer’s apparent health. I’d come to a conclusion based on their complexion, build, and so on.

But the fortune-teller continued her reading at length, carefully providing Ibuki with predictions about academics, financial success, love, and so on. The predictions sounded ordinary and innocuous to me, but Ibuki listened with seeming satisfaction. The fortune-teller didn’t have anything particularly negative to say. Most of her predictions were of a bright future. She occasionally issued warnings, but they didn’t seem to pose a significant threat.

“Thank you very much,” said Ibuki. She bowed her head gratefully.

It now seemed to be my turn, a chance for me to understand this fortune-telling business.

The fortune-teller followed the same process she’d used with Ibuki, and the answers I received were largely indistinguishable from Ibuki’s. Things seemed fundamentally good, but the fortune-teller said that there would be a future time when I would need to be careful to avoid disaster.

“I see… It seems that you had a harsh childhood,” she continued.

A rather broad statement. Most people would claim to have gone through one or two harsh experiences during their youth, especially boys. I wanted her to give me more concrete answers. More importantly, I found it mysterious that a fortune-teller, who should have been divining the future, was instead talking about the past.

Ibuki sat without once interrupting, or even yawning, and listened intently. Perhaps this was what fortune-telling was supposed to be like. Or perhaps this was a necessary ritual? Maybe the fortune-teller needed to visit the past first.

Humans were creatures of convenience. Once people got the idea into their heads that they’d been promised “good luck,” they freely interpreted the next thing that went their way as a sign of their fortune coming true. Ah, so my fortune was right, they would think. However, the reality was that everyone had “good luck” at some point, because life delivered both happiness and unhappiness in great and small amounts.

“This is…” The fortune-teller stopped moving her hands. “You’re the holder of the fate tenchuusatsu !” she exclaimed.

“Wha—? Seriously?” Ibuki balked.

Even though it was my fortune, I was the least surprised person there. Tenchuusatsu wasn’t a word I’d even been aware of until the day before. The fortune-teller and Ibuki seemed way more shocked by this revelation.

“To put it simply, you’ve lived a life of constant misfortune since you were born,” Ibuki explained.

“This is incredible!” the fortune-teller exclaimed.

It might have been pure coincidence, but that claim was accurate. Still vague, though. Besides, from a cynical viewpoint, more than a few people would call themselves constantly unlucky. I supposed it was risky for the fortune-teller to make an unhappy prediction, though.

“So, is this fate tenchuusatsu going to apply to me from here on out?” I asked.

“The little girl wasn’t quite right when she said that the tenchuusatsu meant you lived a life of misfortune,” the fortune-teller replied.

“Little girl?” Ibuki repeated, annoyed.

“Fate tenchuusatsu is certainly rare. However, that doesn’t necessarily mean that your entire life will be marked by misfortune. It’s true that the overall outlook is bad. There are negatives: you won’t have the blessing of your parents, or your family. However, the rest is up to you, individually. You alone decide what you can do and can’t do,” the fortune-teller explained.

She had a grim expression on her face, but I could see compassion in her eyes.

“You don’t need to be pessimistic, and you don’t need to act like you’re starring in a comedy, either,” she continued.

I’d heard some interesting things today, but in the end, it was just fortune-telling. I wasn’t on the edge of my seat with anticipation. When I tried to get up, though, the fortune-teller stopped me.

“I have one more piece of advice for you. Go straight home, without taking any detours. If you stray, you might be stuck for quite a long time. Even if you do get stuck, don’t panic. If you stay calm and work together, you should be able to overcome it,” she told me.

What prophetic words.

2.5

“S o, how was your first fortune-telling experience?” Ibuki asked.

“How was yours?”

“I was mostly satisfied, I think. That fortune-teller is actually pretty famous. People say that she’s highly accurate.”

“I see. It seems like a simple profession, but I guess it’s actually difficult,” I replied.

Fortune-telling was partly based on templates. A fortune-teller gave you hastily thrown together generalizations, but also bits of truth, calculated to excite the listener. They didn’t just rely on luck, but also on long practice and experience.

“I’m not going to dismiss fortune-telling from now on,” I added.

“Ah, I see.”

Ibuki’s reply was short, disinterested. We headed toward the elevator.

“Geh. It’s really crowded again,” I grumbled.

If I continued onwards, I faced hell. If I turned back, I faced hell. Students crowded the elevator area.

“Sorry, but I think I’m going to find another way home. I’ll take a detour,” I told Ibuki.

“Yeah, me too.”

As we made our way to the other elevator, I remembered what the fortune-teller had said.

“That reminds me, earlier…”

“The fortune-teller said not to take any detours,” Ibuki said.

My eyes met Ibuki’s for an instant. Whether it was coincidence, or an inevitability, we decided to take the detour.

“Well, this might be interesting. Let’s see how accurate her prediction was,” I mused.

We arrived at the elevator without incident. No one else was around when we hit the button to call the car.

“Is the first floor okay?”

“Yeah,” Ibuki said.

It seemed as though our paths would soon diverge. I pushed the button for the first floor. The elevator doors closed, and the car began to move. Since Ibuki and I had nothing else to talk about, we rode in silence.

However, as the third-floor light blinked on, the elevator made a heavy grinding noise, then stopped.

It didn’t seem like we’d paused because someone had called the elevator on the third floor; it seemed more like the elevator had ground to a halt. The lights went out, and for an instant, everything was pitch black before the emergency lights came on.

“Is it a power outage?” asked Ibuki.

“Seems that way,” I replied. If this was what the fortune-teller meant about getting stuck, then she was right on the money.

“Shouldn’t we use the emergency phone?”

There was no need to panic. The elevator had measures in place in the event of a breakdown. There were surveillance cameras inside the car, and an intercom button connected to an emergency dispatch center. Ibuki leaned against the back wall of the elevator. Although I wasn’t really good at talking to people, I decided to push the call button.

However…

“There’s no response,” I said.

I didn’t know whether the phone on the other end was ringing or not, but I saw no indication that we were connecting to anyone at the emergency dispatch center.

“Is the call not going through because of the power outage?” Ibuki asked.

“No. Elevators normally have a backup battery that lasts for several hours. The fact that the emergency lights are on right now is proof of that battery. I think this means there’s some other internal failure.”

I pushed the button meant for the hearing-impaired, but got no response from that, either. Perhaps the control panel itself was dead. The battery was alive, though, and the air conditioning was working. That was a lifesaver, but what were we supposed to do?

“Can you try calling the school from your phone? We should be in range,” I said.

“I’m sorry, but would you do it?” she asked.

“I know you don’t want to talk to other people, but can’t you do that much?”

“Ugh,” she muttered.

With a disgruntled look, Ibuki pulled out her phone. When she looked at it, her expression immediately worsened. She showed her screen to me. A message said that the battery was low. Immediately afterwards, it died.

“I don’t have anyone to talk to, so I don’t usually notice when my battery is about to die. You do it,” Ibuki grumbled.

“Guess I got no choice,” I replied.

I pulled out my phone. Once I saw my screen, I stiffened.

“Hurry up already,” Ibuki urged.

“Apparently, our situation is far more serious than I originally thought.”

My phone’s battery was at only 4 percent. It was like a flickering candle flame that the wind could extinguish at any moment.

“You’re messing with me,” Ibuki growled.

“I’m the same as you. Since I don’t have a lot of people to talk to, I don’t really bother checking my battery life.”

“You’re such a useless man.”

“You know, you’re being kind of mean, even though we’re both in the exact same position. Okay, where to call now?”

I looked around to see if I could find contact information for emergency services, and discovered a ten-digit number near the button panel. However, thanks to some jerk who probably thought they were hilarious, the last four digits were scribbled over with magic marker.

“A prank like this is evil,” I muttered.

“Why don’t you call someone you know?” Ibuki asked.

“Someone I know, huh?” Who would I call? “Maybe Horikita?”

“Rejected,” she countered.

“I thought you’d say that.”

“If you call her, then that would mean she’d come to save us, right? Don’t make me laugh.”

I didn’t think it really mattered who rescued us, though. Besides, it wasn’t as though Ibuki were somehow responsible for this. The elevator simply broke down. There was no reason for her to worry; maybe she just didn’t like the idea of showing weakness in front of her rival.

“You don’t want things to get messy?” I guessed. Ibuki nodded slightly.

So, we needed someone who would come to our rescue without causing a scene, huh? That meant those three idiots were out of the question. They’d make a huge deal out of this, and probably tell everyone afterward. Sakura wouldn’t gossip, but the situation would probably fluster her. It’d be difficult for her to help us out.

Kushida and Karuizawa were probably likewise unsuited to the task. Someone who would come help without causing any issues? The one person we could rely on was…that guy.

“I’ll respect your wishes, but let me choose the person we contact,” I said.

“As long as it’s not Horikita.”

I called him right away. After the phone rang for a few seconds, the taciturn fellow quietly answered. I explained our situation and asked for help. However, not long after I started talking, my phone died. The screen silently faded to black.

“Battery ran out,” I told Ibuki.

“Did he get the message?”

“Probably.”

The only thing left to do was sit and wait. There was no need to panic—someone would definitely notice us before too long. If we tried to escape the elevator, like in a TV drama or movie, we’d just risk getting hurt.

Then, though, the situation evolved in an unexpected direction. I heard what sounded like loud grinding inside the elevator. The pleasantly cool air emanating from the vent stopped.

“No way,” Ibuki groaned.

She finally began to look upset. We were trapped in an enclosed space in the middle of summer. The temperature would likely rise dramatically. The air had only gotten a little warmer for now, but soon, we’d be sweating.

“Can we possibly escape on our own?” Ibuki asked.

“Looks like there’s an emergency hatch, but…”

Fewer elevators seemed to have hatches nowadays, but there was a square panel on the ceiling. You saw that kind of thing often in the movies, but in reality, it was unusual.

“How are we supposed to get that open?” asked Ibuki.

You couldn’t normally open the escape hatch from the inside. It was there as a last resort, so that rescuers could still enter and get people out when the elevator doors broke. The hatch was probably kept locked from the outside, except during routine inspections.

“I think we should wait. In an emergency situation in an elevator, the golden rule is to just wait it out.” That was the safest and surest path.

“If you can deal with being in a sauna, sure,” snapped Ibuki.

While we snarked at each other, the temperature continued to rise. I understood wanting to get out, but I also wanted to avoid poor decisions. I took off my jacket and sat on the floor. At times like this, it was important to remain calm.

“How about you sit, too? If it’s too hot, take off some clothes,” I offered.

“Huh? You can’t possibly be thinking something sleazy in this situation. Are you?” Ibuki asked. She’d interpreted my words in a different way than I intended.

“I heard you kept up with Horikita. There’s no way I could defeat someone like you in combat,” I told her.

“Well, that’s true, but…”

“Of course, I’ll turn around if you undress. Relax,” I said.

“I’m not taking my clothes off!” she snapped.

Ibuki quickly sat down with a thud.

We waited quietly for about thirty minutes, but still hadn’t heard from anyone.

“This isn’t good,” I muttered. Ibuki’s breathing grew ragged.

Sweat poured down our foreheads and dripped from our hair. My shirt was so soaked that it looked like I had stood under a waterfall. The situation had gotten significantly more dangerous than I previously imagined. This elevator was installed into the Keyaki Mall’s external wall. I hadn’t noticed that before, because of the air conditioning, but it would get extremely hot under these conditions.

Children have died after being stuck in locked cars in the middle of summer, and the same danger can apply to adults, too. It felt like the two of us were about to suffer heatstroke.

“I can’t take it anymore! Move!” Ibuki shouted.

She shot up and kicked the elevator wall with all of her might, leaving a dent. She kicked the same place again. The elevator wobbled slightly, but showed no sign of actually moving.

“You’re just wasting your energy. I can’t say sitting here doing nothing’s the safest option anymore either, though,” I muttered.

Even if someone outside had noticed the malfunctioning elevator soon after it stopped, the rescue crew would take roughly thirty minutes to arrive. Help might be here any minute, but if we remained stuck much longer, heatstroke would be inevitable. Our lives might be in danger.

“Guess we’ve got no choice,” I muttered.

I wasn’t about to roast to death in an elevator sauna.

“Should we kick down the door? Hey, should we kick it down?” Ibuki was quickly going berserk.

“Let’s try to open the hatch on top,” I suggested. The most important thing was to make an opening, even if we couldn’t escape through it. “The ceiling is about two meters up. Probably like 2.2 or 2.3…”

Even if I stretched as far as I could, I couldn’t reach that high.

“Move,” Ibuki snapped.

Ibuki leaped upwards directly beneath the hatch. It was an incredible jump. She reached up and pushed with all her might, but the hatch didn’t budge in the slightest. When she landed, the shock made the elevator wobble wildly.

“Looks like it’s stuck,” she said.

“Guess so.”

“Well, you predicted that it was locked, but how’s it locked? What’s the mechanism?”

“I think it’s secured with a padlock, but if so, what do we do?” I honestly didn’t have any idea.

“I’ll kick it.”

“No. That’s definitely impossible,” I said.

Ibuki might’ve been extremely confident in her strength, but this elevator wasn’t something that you could simply kick open.

“That’s an emergency hatch, right? That means rescuers need to be able to open the elevator from the outside. If we look at it from that perspective, the amount of force needed should be minimal,” she replied.

I got what Ibuki was saying, but the situation wasn’t that simple. Besides, since the hatch was located on the ceiling, it was going to be hard to kick.

“We won’t know if we don’t try,” Ibuki continued. She started looking at the elevator walls. She wasn’t planning to kick off the wall and launch herself, was she?

“Wow. So, I guess the fortune-teller’s warning really did come true, didn’t it?” I asked.

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“The old woman told me not to panic if I get stuck. She told me to cooperate.” I turned my gaze to the elevator buttons. “The emergency button didn’t respond, and the call didn’t connect. But what about the other buttons?”

Since the first-floor button was lit, the battery was probably still alive. I tried pushing the second-floor button as a test, and it lit up. This was worth a shot. I started pushing buttons at random.

“It’s pointless,” Ibuki rebuked me. “We don’t have any other choice but to kick our way out, right?”

“No, there’s another way. Elevators have something like a cancel command function, don’t they?”

I wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about elevators, but I’d picked up a few things. There was a way to cancel a command after you pushed a button for the wrong floor by mistake. The command differed, based on the elevator manufacturer, but if you kept pushing the cancel button, that could stop the elevator.

When I continued to push the button for the second floor, the light went off.

“There should be some commands in express mode, for sure,” I muttered.

“Express?”

“Say we were on the third floor. If we headed down to the first floor, the elevator would normally stop on the second, if people on that floor hit the call button. However, if you use the express command, the elevator ignores other commands and takes you directly to the first floor.”

I didn’t know whether this elevator had an express mode, though.

“Is it worth giving it a try?” Ibuki asked.

“Well, it’s better than trying to break through the ceiling.”

In truth, I didn’t think I would get the elevator moving by using the express mode. I wanted to buy time by changing the subject, and by giving Ibuki renewed hope. She was on the verge of losing her cool.

“Help me think this through. If we both come up with ideas, we might stumble onto a solution,” I suggested.

I tried pushing the button for the first floor repeatedly, simultaneously pushing the buttons for all the other floors. No matter what I did, however, the elevator didn’t respond.

“Let me try.”

“Okay.”

Ibuki started pushing various buttons. We would really need a plan in the event that help wasn’t coming. Maybe kicking down the door was actually worth considering. Even if we couldn’t break it open completely, an opening big enough to slip through would be adequate.

I’d have preferred to get out of the elevator without resorting to violent behavior, but as long as we could escape, I didn’t really care about the means.

“I don’t really know about canceling commands, but I can’t imagine you’d be able to activate the elevator’s express mode just by punching a combination of buttons. Right?” Ibuki said.

That seemed obvious. Children mash elevator buttons at random all the time, and an elevator in express mode would also be pretty inconvenient for other passengers. We likely couldn’t activate that mode through a typical combination of buttons.

“In that case, it might be better to exclude complex commands,” I said.

Let’s say that, to use express mode, you had to enter one, six, five, five, four, two, four, and then your destination. That would be difficult to memorize, and would have a height requirement of at least six floors. A code like that would be odd if your elevator only covered three floors.

“We should try pushing the emergency button, don’t you think? So, then…one, two, or three? With the open and close buttons, that makes five buttons overall.”

“I think it’s some combination of those buttons,” I said.

If there were more combinations, it would’ve been extremely difficult to test them all. Ibuki started trying out the limited number of combinations. As I watched, I mentally crossed off the ones that didn’t work.

“Ah, I can’t take it! It’s so hot!” Ibuki whined.

She punched the wall to relieve some frustration. Considering how on-edge she was, I decided to drop it.

“It’s not opening. Have we already tested everything?” she asked.

“Almost. If there are any button combinations left…”

There was one possibility. I decided to try out one last command.

“Why don’t you try pushing the button for your desired floor, plus the close-door button at the same time?” I suggested.

“The close-door button? All right.” Ibuki muttered dismissively, but she tested the combination.

I didn’t expect the elevator to respond, but it started to move. Ibuki and I looked at each other. After a few seconds, the elevator arrived on the first floor, and the doors slowly opened. Cool air flowed inside the car. We found two adults looking at us, wearing shocked expressions.

“Are you all right?! Are you hurt?!”

“We’re okay, we’re not hurt. It was just really hot,” I answered.

Looking at our sweaty state, they could probably guess how hot it was. They offered us sports drinks right away, and instructed us to head over to the doctor’s office for examination, just in case.

“Um, can I ask one question? Could it be that we moved the elevator?”

“Oh, no, we moved it directly from here.”

A special remote control operated the elevator from the first floor. Apparently, Ibuki and I hadn’t caused the elevator to move using express mode, or anything. We just happened to push the buttons at the exact same time the adults operated the elevator remotely.

“You must have had a rough time in there.”

“Yeah, it was a disaster. Fortune-telling is serious business,” Ibuki said.

As I thanked the adults, a man watching from the sidelines approached us.

“Are you all right, Ayanokouji?” the large man asked. He seemed more anxious than someone that size should.

“You rescued us,” I told him.

This man, Katsuragi, was probably the one who’d saved the day.

“I got the gist of the situation from the information you gave me over the phone. I’m sure you must be glad to be down,” he replied.

“I have to head to the doctor’s office now, but I’ll thank you properly later,” I said.

“There’s no need. You and Sudou have helped me a lot. There are some lines we can’t cross, because we’re from different classes, but I happen to think cooperation’s an excellent thing,” answered Katsuragi.

“Sounds like things went well for you,” I said.

“Yeah. Sudou performed brilliantly. Please tell him once again that I’m very appreciative.”

“Sure thing.”

“I should thank you as well, Ayanokouji. Despite the plentiful evidence, there must have been considerable resistance to the plan I proposed.”

Katsuragi bowed his head in gratitude. I owed him, too. Had I been stuck in that elevator any longer, I might have lost it.

“If you need anything else, please contact me. I’ll assist you with anything…other than exams, of course.” Katsuragi chuckled.

With that, he turned and left.

Katsuragi and I had started to become real friends. We were as close as I was to the three idiots, maybe even more so. But how did I know Katsuragi’s contact information, even though he was in Class A? And why were we close?

The story of our friendship had begun a little while ago.