Another day in advance nurturing High school and it starts with Hikigaya Hachiman's dorm room, a sanctuary once dedicated to the noble arts of solitude and cynical observation, had been repurposed into a high-stakes, low-budget war room. The air was thick with a tension that no amount of air conditioning could dissipate. He sat at his small table, nursing a can of MAX Coffee like it was a lifeline, observing the three guests who had thoroughly invaded his personal space.
There was Horikita Suzune, the cold, logical General of this impromptu operation, her posture ramrod straight, her gaze analytical. There was Sudou Ken, the volatile nuclear warhead they were trying to disarm, currently fidgeting in his chair, radiating an aura of barely contained impatience. And finally, there was Sakura Airi, the trembling, invaluable asset, who seemed to be trying to make herself as small as possible, as if hoping to phase through the floor and escape.
"Let us begin," Horikita announced, her voice cutting through the awkward silence. "The testimony is in three days. The Student Council will not just be evaluating the evidence; they will be evaluating you. Your every word, every gesture, every flinch will have a significant impact on the outcome."
Her gaze settled on Sudou. "Which brings us to our primary problem: you, Sudou-kun."
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" Sudou bristled immediately.
"It means," Hachiman chimed in, leaning back in his chair, "that your default setting is 'enraged gorilla.' In a formal hearing, that translates to 'guilty as sin.' They will provoke you. The Class C students will lie, the council will ask pointed questions. If you blow up, you lose. We all lose."
"So," Horikita continued, picking up the thread, "we are going to conduct a stress test. Hikigaya-kun and I will be your opposition. We will insult you, question you, and provoke you. Your job is to remain calm, speak clearly, and not resort to threats or your usual… colorful vocabulary."
Sudou scoffed. "You think you can get under my skin?"
Hachiman and Horikita exchanged a brief, almost imperceptible glance. It was a look that said, 'This will be easier than taking candy from a baby who is actively trying to give you the candy.'
"Let's start with your game," Hachiman began, his voice dripping with condescension. "That last match against the seniors, your form was sloppy. You charge in without thinking, you telegraph your every move. It's like watching a bull in a china shop, only the bull is less coordinated and the china is a basketball."
Sudou's eye twitched. "What did you say, you fish-eyed bastard?!"
"See? Barely ten seconds," Horikita noted dispassionately. "Your defensive stance is also inefficient. You rely purely on raw strength, leaving you open to faster, more agile players. A first-year from a decent high school team could probably run circles around you."
They were careful, following the one rule they had tacitly agreed upon: they would criticize his gameplay, his garish red hair, his abrasive behavior—anything and everything about his execution. But they would not, under any circumstances, question his passion for the game itself. To attack the one thing that genuinely drove him would be crossing a line from strategic provocation to outright cruelty. Even for them, that felt like a step too far.
For the next hour, the room became a crucible.
"Your hairstyle looks like you lost a fight with a bottle of ketchup."
"Tch…"
"When you try to explain yourself, you sound like you're gargling gravel. Enunciate."
"I'll enunciate my fist on your face!"
"And that's another failure. Reset."
It was a painful process. Sudou flared up multiple times, his face turning the same shade as his hair, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. But, to his credit, he was trying. Between outbursts, there were flashes of tolerance, moments where he'd take a deep breath, grit his teeth, and respond with a clipped, "That's your opinion," instead of a stream of curses. He was slowly, agonizingly, building a tolerance.
With Sudou simmering on the verge of a stress-induced aneurysm, they turned their attention to Sakura.
"Now, Sakura-san," Horikita said, her tone softening fractionally. "All you need to do is state what you saw, clearly and confidently. We will practice your statement."
This, Hachiman knew, was a different kind of challenge. You couldn't insult someone into having confidence. All they could do was provide instructions, but it was like trying to teach a bird to fly by showing it diagrams.
"I… I was there… to take pictures…" Sakura began, her voice a reedy whisper, her gaze fixed on her own trembling hands.
"Louder, Sakura-san," Horikita instructed gently. "Look at us when you speak. The council needs to believe you."
"I… I saw Sudou-kun… and the other three… They were… arguing…"
Sudou, his own nerves frayed from the earlier verbal assault, lost his patience. "Are you kidding me?! Speak up! You're the only one who can clear my name and you sound like you're telling a ghost story! Do it properly!"
The harsh words struck Sakura like a physical blow. Horikita's head snapped towards Sudou, her eyes flashing with cold fire. "And you are one to criticize, Sudou-kun? After spending the last hour proving you possess the emotional control of a toddler? Master your own monumental flaws before you dare to point out hers."
Sudou flinched back, chastened.
Sakura, however, was already wilting. The pressure, the shouting—it was too much. "I… I'm sorry," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes as she stood up. "I… I need to go for a bit…"
"Hey! We're not done!" Sudou shouted, standing up abruptly, his frustration getting the better of him again.
His sudden movement and loud voice startled the already distraught Sakura. She yelped, stumbling backward, her legs tangling. She tripped and fell to the floor with a hard thud.
But the sound of her fall was overshadowed by another, sharper noise.
CRACK.
Sakura didn't cry out in pain. She didn't even seem to register her own fall. Her eyes were wide with horror, fixed on the digital camera that had flown from her hands and skittered across the floor.
"My camera…" she breathed, scrambling towards it.
She picked it up with trembling hands. The large LCD screen on the back was a spiderweb of shattered glass. She frantically tried to turn it on, but the screen remained black. It was dead.
The tears that had been welling in her eyes finally spilled over, silent streams of pure despair. "No… no, no…"
A heavy, guilty silence descended upon the room. Hachiman felt a pit form in his stomach. This was their fault. They had pushed too hard, created this volatile environment.
He knelt down beside her. "Sakura… I'm sorry. We shouldn't have gotten you involved in this."
"He's right," Horikita added, her voice uncharacteristically soft, her face etched with genuine regret. "This is our responsibility. We apologize."
They both looked at Sudou. The anger had completely drained from his face, replaced by a look of profound, uncomfortable guilt. He stood awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly wrestling with himself.
"Tch…" he finally mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck and refusing to make eye contact. "Sorry… 'kay? Didn't mean to yell."
It was clumsy, impolite, and lacked any real grace, but for Sudou Ken, it was the equivalent of a Shakespearean sonnet of remorse.
Horikita took charge, her practical nature reasserting itself. "The camera might be fixable. There's a high-end electronics and repair shop in the Keyaki Mall. We will go there now." She looked pointedly at Hachiman and Sakura. "The three of us." Then her gaze landed on Sudou. "And you."
Sudou was about to protest. "Why do I gotta go? It's not my—"
He stopped mid-sentence, silenced by the sheer intensity of Horikita's glare.
"Sudou-kun," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "Need I remind you that the only tangible proof of your innocence, the single piece of evidence that might save you from expulsion, is currently stored on the memory card inside that broken device? You're coming."
Sudou swallowed hard. There was no arguing with that logic, or with the icy promise of pain in Horikita's eyes if he tried. With a defeated sigh, he nodded.
The four of them, a fractured and dysfunctional team bound by a common, desperate cause, prepared to leave the room. Their mission had changed. Before they could save Sudou in the courtroom, they first had to save the camera.
The following day, the dysfunctional quartet made their way to the Keyaki Mall. The air between them was still fragile, a delicate ecosystem of guilt, gratitude, and a shared, looming dread. As they approached the electronics shop, Hachiman signaled for a halt.
"You two go first," he said to Horikita and Sakura. "Sudou and I will hang back for a moment. No need to crowd the counter."
Horikita gave him a questioning look but didn't argue. She escorted the still-nervous Sakura towards the repair counter.
Hachiman watched, his gaze not on the girls, but on the middle-aged store manager. The man's professional smile was plastered on, but his eyes followed Sakura with an unnerving intensity. Hachiman saw the subtle, almost imperceptible movement as the manager angled his body, discreetly activating the camera on his store-issued phone, which was placed on the counter. His target was clearly Sakura.
Hachiman nudged Sudou, who was busy looking impatient. "Look at the manager," he murmured.
"What about him?" Sudou grunted.
"He's recording her. Stalking her," Hachiman stated flatly.
Sudou's head whipped around, his eyes narrowing. "What?! I,ll-...
"You'll do nothing ," Hachiman cut him off. "Causing a scene will only draw more attention to Sakura, which is the last thing she wants." He paused, letting the weight of his next words sink in.
"Think about it, Sudou. That girl, who is terrified of her own shadow, is willingly stepping into the spotlight to testify for you. That's a huge deal for a loner. The very least you can do is protect her from creeps like him." He turned to Sudou, his dead-fish eyes for once holding a glint of seriousness. "Go fill out the form for her. Take control of the situation."
A flicker of understanding, followed by a surge of protective instinct, crossed Sudou's face. Without another word, he strode towards the counter.
Sakura was stammering, her hands trembling so much she could barely hold the pen the manager had offered her. "I-I need to fill this… for the… the repair…"
Just as she was about to put pen to paper, Sudou's larger hand gently but firmly took the pen from hers. "I'll do it," he said, his voice a low growl directed more at the manager than at her.
Sakura looked up at him, startled.
The store manager's professional smile tightened. "Sir, the camera belongs to the young lady. For our records, she should be the one to fill out the form."
Hachiman chose that moment to stroll up beside Sudou. "That may be your store's preference, but there's no school rule or national law that says a friend can't help fill out a repair form," he said, his voice bored and dismissive. "Or is there? I'd be happy to wait while you look it up."
The manager, flustered and outmaneuvered, could only sputter, his plan to get Sakura's personal information foiled. Sudou quickly filled out the necessary details, his large frame acting as a physical barrier between Sakura and the manager's leering gaze.
Later, the four were seated at an outdoor table at a nearby café, a silent agreement having been made that they all needed a moment to decompress. The broken camera had been left with the technicians, with a promise that the memory card was unharmed and could be recovered.
"Thank you… everyone," Sakura whispered, bowing her head slightly. "And… Sudou-kun… thank you."
Sudou just grunted, turning slightly red and looking away. "It was nothin'."
Hachiman, sensing the moment, decided to deploy his plan. "So, Sudou," he began, swirling his coffee. "I've been meaning to ask. What's the deal with basketball? What's your passion for it all about?"
Sudou's entire demeanor changed. The sullen defensiveness melted away, replaced by an enthusiastic fire in his eyes. "Basketball? It's everything! It's the only thing I've ever been truly good at, you know? The feeling of the ball in your hands, the squeak of the shoes, faking out a defender and sinking a perfect three-pointer… there's nothing like it! I'm gonna go pro, I swear! I'm gonna—"
Bzzz. Bzzz.
Hachiman's phone vibrated on the table. He glanced at the screen, feigning mild annoyance. "Ah, sorry. Gotta take this." He stood up, gesturing to Horikita. "Horikita, come with me. This concerns class business that you, as our 'savior,' should probably hear."
Horikita, who had been pre-warned via text message, played her part perfectly, rising with a sigh of mild exasperation and following him a short distance away, leaving the other two alone.
Sakura, her own curiosity now piqued by Sudou's sudden burst of energy, looked at him timidly. "Please… continue. You were saying… you want to go pro?"
Sudou, caught up in his own enthusiasm, didn't need a second invitation. "Yeah! It's not just about the game, though. It's my dream, sure, but… it's for my dad, too. He's always supported me, even when my grades were crap, even when teachers gave up on me. He worked extra shifts just to buy me new basketball shoes. He told me to chase my dream, no matter what. I wanna make it to the top so I can give him a good life, so he doesn't have to work so hard anymore."
He finished, slightly out of breath, a raw and honest vulnerability exposed. To his surprise, Sakura was looking at him not with fear, but with something akin to admiration.
"That's… amazing," she said, her voice soft but clear. "To have that kind of confidence, that kind of passion for something… and for someone. I… I can't even make a single friend."
This was another surprise for Sudou. "What about Kushida? Isn't she friends with everyone?"
Sakura shook her head, a shiver running through her. "I don't know… I don't feel good around Kushida-san. She smiles, but… it makes me feel uneasy. Cold."
Sudou was confused by this, but he didn't press the issue. The girl was strange, but she was helping him. And she'd just praised him something which only his father have done upon till now, A strange, warm feeling spread through his chest. He puffed out his chest slightly and, in a burst of uncharacteristic chivalry, declared, "Well, that's dumb. I'll be your first friend, then!"
He stuck out his large hand. Sakura looked at it as if it were a foreign object, her eyes wide. Then, hesitantly, she reached out and placed her small hand in his. His grip was firm but gentle. It was awkward and clumsy, but for two people who lived on the fringes of their social world, it was monumental.
Hachiman watched this unfold from a distance, a rare, small smile touching his lips. His plan was working perfectly.
"What, precisely, are you thinking?" Horikita's voice cut through his thoughts. She had been observing him as much as she was observing the other two. "Why did you have me call your phone just then? Are you trying to get Sudou-kun and Sakura-san closer? If so, why? A loner like you, encouraging another loner to make a friend? Doesn't that contradict your entire philosophy? 'There's nothing wrong with being alone,' I believe you've said."
Hachiman turned to her, his smile fading back into its usual cynical mask. "There's nothing wrong with being alone, Horikita. There is something fundamentally wrong with being driven to isolation by the malice of others. This is beneficial for both of them."
He elaborated, "Sakura has what I can only describe as monstrous intuition. It's a survival instinct. It's why she can see the malice in people, why she feels uneasy around Kushida when no one else does. It's what drove her into isolation. But that same intuition should tell her that while Sudou is a wild, loud-mouthed idiot, he isn't a bad person.
"They can learn from each other," he continued, warming to his pseudo-philosophical theme. "Sakura can be influenced by Sudou's blunt confidence and become more assertive. Sudou, in turn, might become more humble and gentle to match her timid nature. A symbiotic relationship."
Horikita stared at him, her expression unconvinced. "Cut the sentimental nonsense, Hikigaya-kun. That's your cover story. What's the real reason?"
Hachiman let out a world-weary sigh. She knew him too well. He pulled out his phone, navigated to a folder he had saved, and showed it to her. It was a collection of "Shizuku" photos. Sakura, in various cute and slightly daring outfits, looking directly at the camera with a confidence that was entirely absent in her real-life persona.
Before Horikita could accuse him of being a creep, he explained. "Look at her, Horikita. When she's 'Shizuku,' she's a different person. She's beautiful. Easily on par with someone like Ichinose Honami in terms of raw visual appeal. Kushida is our class's current 'idol,' but she's a venomous, unstable fake we can't trust. Sakura, on the other hand… she could be a genuine idol for Class D. A symbol we can build up, one who is actually on our side. A good, reliable replacement for Kushida. Don't you think?"
Horikita looked from the photos on the phone to Hachiman's dead-serious face. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second as the sheer, ruthless pragmatism of his plan sank in. He wasn't just helping two lonely people connect; he was grooming a new asset, a counter-weapon to be deployed in their ongoing war against the class system and the monster hiding in their midst.
Then, a small, barely visible smile—a true one this time, full of wry amusement and intellectual appreciation—appeared on her face. She shook her head slowly, as if in disbelief at the labyrinthine depths of his cynicism.
"You," she said, "are truly unbelievable."
"I get that a lot," he replied.
With their silent understanding renewed, they turned and walked back to rejoin their class's newest, and most unlikely, pair of friends.
....End....