The morning didn't begin with sunrise.
It began with a scream.
— "It was him! I saw him! He tried to break into my room!"
The corridor filled quickly. Students from all sectors gathered — sleepy, tense.
At the center of attention stood a girl from Class 2-B. Light chestnut hair, frightened eyes.
Her voice trembled — but not like a victim's.
More like an actress's — one breath away from being believed.
— "Him! That guy from 2-D! I recognized his eyes right away!"
And everyone turned.
To me.
Some of my classmates looked confused. Others — suspicious.
I stepped forward.
— "Are you sure?" I asked calmly. "There are nearly a hundred people here. It was night. Darkness. Did you see a face?"
She hesitated. But quickly recovered:
— "Not the face. But the walk. The height. The way he moved. It was you."
Then the curator appeared on the stairs. Behind him — a staff member from the security division.
Everyone fell silent.
— "Until the investigation is complete," the curator announced, "the suspect will be restricted from contact with other classes."
Some exchanged glances.
This wasn't just a game anymore.
This was war.
An hour later, I sat in one of the isolated rooms.
No phone. No communication.
Behind the glass — surveillance.
This wasn't an emotional outburst.
It was a carefully planned move.
I'd seen tricks like this in other schools. In other trials.
When the goal wasn't victory — but discreditation. Pressure. Breaking the image of a leader.
Now, if I responded too harshly — I'd lose.
If I stayed silent — I'd lose.
So I had to flip the board.
In the evening, I was called for a "mediated meeting."
A neutral student, chosen by the system, to act as a go-between.
It was Yuki Kaseda.
He sat casually, as always. But his eyes — were curious.
— "Unpleasant situation," he said. "But maybe not hopeless."
— "You know who did this," I replied. "And why."
Yuki smirked:
— "I have a few guesses. But if I help — you'll owe me."
I said nothing.
We both understood that "owe" didn't mean points.
Later, Aoi entered the room. Tense, but composed.
— "We found a camera. One that shouldn't have been there. Installed outside. Someone watched your door all night."
— "And?"
— "The footage shows it. The girl approached your door. Looked straight into the lens. Left. An hour later — she started the drama."
I stayed silent.
Everything was falling into place.
A day later, the accusations were dropped.
"A misunderstanding." "Pressure." "The participant's psychological instability."
But that didn't matter anymore.
I saw the looks. Some — relieved. Others — still doubtful.
And most of all — her.
The one who tried to break me.
We met eyes in the hallway.
She smiled. Casually. As if nothing had happened.
But I knew:
This game had only just begun.