CHAPTER I ~The Accused~
🎶🎵Kin-kon... kan-kon...🎵🎶
The metallic chime of the school bell, familiar and final, reverberated down the polished corridors of Kurokawa High, its echoes lingering like the last note of a symphony. For a split second, time seemed to hold its breath. Then, as if a spell had been broken, chaos unfurled. Chairs scraped back in a discordant chorus—wooden legs screeching against linoleum, some tumbling over in the haste.
Desks rattled as students shoved textbooks and notebooks into overstuffed bags with frantic energy, zippers rasping and pencil cases snapping shut. The air, heavy moments before with the drone of a last-period lecture, now crackled with anticipation and pent-up excitement. Voices erupted, overlapping in a cacophony of laughter, shouts, and hurried farewells.
Some students leapt from their seats, eager to escape the confines of the classroom, while others lingered just long enough to scribble a final note or exchange a secret with a friend. Teachers, half-amused and half-exasperated, called out reminders about homework, their words barely audible above the din.
The hallway outside became a river of motion. At precisely 4:15 PM, the school's daily cycle shifted gears—clubs convened, sports teams assembled, and the grounds became a stage for youthful exuberance.
Sneakers squeaked and loafers slapped against the floor as boys and girls alike surged toward the exits, their voices bouncing off the walls. Some darted ahead, weaving through the crowd with practiced agility, while others ambled, arms linked or backpacks slung lazily over one shoulder. Outside, the schoolyard was alive with commotion. The track team jogged in formation, their coordinated rhythm a sharp contrast to the chaos around them. Soccer balls thudded against the ground, punctuated by the shrill whistles of coaches and the cheers of onlookers.
Laughter rang out from clusters of friends sprawled beneath cherry trees, their uniforms rumpled and ties loosened, as they recounted the day's mishaps and triumphs. Everywhere, there was movement and noise—girls shrieking in delight as they chased each other across the grass, boys shouting challenges over impromptu basketball games, the distant hum of the kendo club practicing in the gym. The scent of fresh-cut grass mingled with the faint tang of sweat and the sweet promise of freedom.
As the tide of students surged out of their classrooms—rucksacks bouncing, laughter and shouts echoing down the halls—she remained, unmoved. Mikazuki Yuzuki sat at the far right corner, where the classroom met the open windows. The autumn air, crisp and tinged with the scent of fallen leaves, slipped in and played with the strands of her hair—silken, moonlit threads that shimmered in the fading light. Her posture was serene, almost statuesque, as the world outside erupted in noise and motion.
The classroom, now nearly empty, was filled with the soft rustle of papers left behind and the distant cacophony from the schoolyard below. Yuzuki's sky-blue eyes reflected the pale sky, unclouded by any trace of sorrow or turmoil. The gentle breeze fluttered the hem of her uniform skirt, carrying with it the distant, discordant sounds of students—shouts, laughter, the thud of shoes on pavement—but none of it seemed to touch her.
The tranquility was abruptly broken by the pounding of hurried footsteps in the hallway. The classroom door slid open with a sharp clatter.
"Mikazuki-san!" came the shrill call, as Tsukimoto Sayaka, her best friend, swept into the room, her energy trailing behind her like a storm. Three other girls- Minamisawa Airi, Fujibayashi Kanae and Shinozaki Miharu followed close, their faces twisted into sly, knowing smirks.
"Aweee, Mikazuki-san! What're you doing here all alone?" Sayaka's voice was a blend of mock affection and barely concealed malice, the words curling in the air like smoke. Her friends, Minamisawa Airi among them, echoed the sentiment with exaggerated concern.
"That's right!!! Mikazuki-san, you're being sooooo boring lately. Are you sure you're eating well?" Airi's tone was sing-song, but her eyes were sharp, searching for a reaction.
Mikazuki Yuzuki—the girl whispered about in every corner of Junior High, the supposed architect of every rumor and drama—sat quietly, her calm a stark contrast to the electric tension filling the room.
Sayaka leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. "Cut the chitter chatter, girls. Mikazuki-san, tell me. How did you charm Shiranui-kun? He's been talking so much about you."
The air seemed to thicken, the playful malice of the gang swirling around Yuzuki's composed figure. Yet she remained poised, the autumn wind still toying with her hair, her eyes unyielding—a silent moon in a sky of gathering clouds.
A hush fell—tense and electric—as Yuzuki's gaze remained fixed on the shifting sky beyond the window. The laughter and shrieks from below seemed to grow sharper, echoing up from the schoolyard where the rest of the world spun on, oblivious to the quiet storm gathering in the classroom.
Sayaka's gang tightened their circle, the air thick with the scent of perfume and something colder—anticipation, perhaps, or the thrill of power. The girls' voices, syrupy and sharp, tangled together:
"So, Mikazuki-san, are you going to ignore us now?" Kanae sneered, her tone a brittle mockery of concern.
Miharu, lips curled in a practiced smirk, added, "C'mon. Stop hiding it behind your pretty face. We know what's going on. Just admit it already. We don't have all day, y'know!"
Yuzuki's fingers curled around the edge of her desk, knuckles pale. The wind teased the loose strands of her hair, making them dance like silver threads. Her silence was not surrender, but a shield—one she had learned to wield with quiet precision, day after day, as the rumors swirled and the whispers grew teeth.
Below, the chaos of after-school life raged: boys chasing each other across the dirt, girls shrieking with laughter, the distant whistle of a coach calling the track team into line. The world outside was a blur of color and movement, but inside, the room felt frozen—every breath, every heartbeat magnified.
Sayaka leaned closer, her shadow falling across Yuzuki's desk. "You see~ Everyone's talking about YOU and Shiranui-kun. If you think being silent will resolve this matter, then truly, you're blind." Her voice dropped, low and venomous, the words meant for Yuzuki alone.
The other girls giggled, a chorus of mean-spirited delight. In their eyes, Yuzuki saw the reflection of every rumor, every sideways glance in the hallway, every note slipped into her locker. In this school, standing out—even for beauty, even for mystery—was enough to draw fire.
The tension in the air snapped as another surge of footsteps thundered down the corridor—louder, more urgent, a stampede that drew every eye. The door slammed open, crashing against the wall. A girl stood framed in the entrance, her presence demanding attention, her glare sharp enough to cut glass. Behind her, a swarm of girls clustered, their voices a rising tide of whispers and gasps, eager for the spectacle.
She didn't hesitate. Her voice rang out, shrill and furious, echoing off the empty desks:
"HOW DARE YOU HIT ON Shiranui-kun! He's MINE!"
Each word was a weapon, flung across the room as she stormed forward, her rage radiating in waves. The crowd of girls fanned out behind her, feeding on the drama, their eyes wide with anticipation and hunger for gossip.
The tension snapped into a frenzy as the crowd pressed in, phones raised high, screens glowing—each flash a staccato burst capturing every second for the digital rumor mill. The air was thick with anticipation, the electric hum of gossip and scandal swirling like a storm.
Phones flashed like paparazzi at a red carpet, the classroom pulsing with excitement and the scent of drama. Aihara's rage was volcanic, but Mikazuki Yuzuki stood with a grace that was almost theatrical, her moonlight hair shimmering under the harsh LED glare.
Yuzuki's voice, quiet but unwavering, cut through the chaos. "I did nothing." She straightened, her gaze cool and resolute as she faced Aihara Nozomi, the girl whose fury had ignited the room.
"Aihara-sama. I will say this once, and only once. I haven't done anything wrong. I have never talked or even laid eyes on Shiranui-senpai. He may hold the position of Student Council President, but I can say with utmost sincerity that it wasn't me, but Tsukimoto Sayaka who was behind all of this."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Sayaka's face drained of color, her eyes wide with disbelief as every head turned toward her.
"She deliberately posted his photos on my account without my consent just cause she had access to my credentials. And it has been long since I'd broken ties with her," Yuzuki continued, her voice steady. "And here's the proof." She pulled out her phone, fingers deft, and opened LINE. The room fell silent as she played the voice note:
"Mikazuki-san!!! Check out your Twitter account! I have a special surprise waiting for you."
Sayaka's trembling was visible, her composure crumbling as Aihara snatched the phone and scrolled through the evidence. The crowd's murmurs swelled into a roar of excitement and disbelief.
Sayaka's thoughts raced in panic—HOW? HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE? I clearly remember deleting it for both of us so that no evidence is left. HOW THE HELL DID SHE MANAGE TO SAVE THAT? DAMN IT. I shouldn't have underestimated her…
AHH. DAMNN IT ALL. This damn Yuzuki. She played us. DAMN IT. We're all dead meat now. Kanae, one of Sayaka's friends thought as she edged backward, ready to disappear before the explosion.
Aihara's glare sharpened, her attention now locked on Sayaka. The crowd erupted, egging her on:
"WOHOOOOO! Aihara-san, go!! Get HERRRR!"
"YEAHH!! GO GIRL GOOO!"
"WOAH! Aihara-san, show her who's boss!"
"Yuzuki's savage! Did you hear that?"
Without warning, Aihara lunged, grabbing Sayaka by the hair and slapping her, the crowd closing in, phones capturing every wild second. Sayaka's remaining friends vanished into the sea of students, wanting no part of the fallout.
Yuzuki, unbothered by the chaos, slung her bag over her shoulder, retrieved her phone, and slipped out of the classroom. Behind her, the room pulsed with the flash of cameras and the shrieks of a scandal going viral, but she walked away—untouched, by the storm at her back.
The corridor outside Yuzuki's classroom was a river of chaos—students surging forward, voices rising in a blend of excitement and speculation as word of the confrontation spread like wildfire.
Yuzuki moved through the bustling corridors, her grip tight on her bag's strap as students rushed past, many heading toward her classroom, eager to witness the aftermath of the earlier confrontation firsthand. She had anticipated this chaos the moment she discovered unfamiliar photos of the Student Council President, Shiranui Haruki, posted from her account—an account she had never used for such things, nor had she ever once spoken to, let alone shown interest in.
Yuzuki held no admiration for Shiranui's popularity or the authority he wielded at Kurokawa High. His popularity, the effortless way he commanded attention and respect among the student body, was precisely the kind of social power Yuzuki found distasteful. She disliked the invisible hierarchy that governed Kurokawa High, where status was dictated by popularity, club affiliation, and rumor, but she continued on, determined to finish her day despite the mounting tension.
To be Continued...