The hallway outside the English clubroom buzzed with sound. Not just voices—debate voices. Timed, sharp, confident. Arguments flying back and forth with the speed and rhythm of practiced instinct.
Kotarō stood in front of the closed door longer than he wanted. His hand hovered near the knob, hesitating.
"Too loud. Too many words. All aligned. Like walking into a sea of perfect sentences."
He told himself it didn't matter. He was just here to meet Haruka. Not to talk. Not to belong.
"In and out. Like picking up a library book."
He opened the door.
The room didn't just pulse—it moved. Every chair, every shift of breath, seemed timed to someone speaking. It wasn't just a debate match. It was a controlled collision of certainty.
And at the center of it stood Haruka.
She was in the middle of clashing with the opposing speaker—her voice calm, low, but wielded like a scalpel. Her rebuttals were clean, her transitions seamless.
"She wasn't arguing. She was sculpting. Taking apart their structure with surgical confidence and fitting her logic in the gaps."
The motion on the board read:
"This House believes influencer culture harms democratic discourse."
One POI cut in, sharp. Haruka declined, barely blinking. But something shifted. Her next sentence stuttered by a half-beat.
Not enough for collapse, but enough to show.
The match ended. The judges voted 2-1. Close, but not in her favor.
"She lost. But if you walked in at any point, you'd think she was winning. That's how solid she stood."
Kotarō had barely stepped out of the doorway before someone noticed him.
"You're not a member."
A student with a tablet and sharp focus eyed him up and down.
"Just visiting," Kotarō replied.
"Who invited you?"
"Haruka."
"Ah. Observation, then."
No pressure. No smile. Just logged data.
Haruka appeared at his side shortly after, brushing a hair behind her ear like she hadn't just debated in front of a firing squad.
"We came to borrow some match data and prep materials," she said, addressing the club. "Stat sheets too, if possible."
Without hesitation, some members started gathering folders, handing over PDF printouts and speech examples.
Haruka passed a portion to Kotarō. He took them automatically.
"My job here was carrying things. And, apparently, being silently judged."
Then came the questions. And the eyes. And the overlapping voices.
"Who's that guy?"
"Is he auditing us?"
"He looks like he walked into the wrong anime."
"Hey, can you speak English? Say something!"
"This is what drowning in conversation feels like. Smiling faces, fast voices, and nowhere to duck."
Kotarō opened his mouth, unsure which question to even address, when Haruka wordlessly stepped beside him and took his elbow.
"We have to go," she said casually to no one in particular. "Library's closing soon."
"She didn't pull me out. She rescued me. Like it was protocol."
He nodded and followed.
The hallway outside was dimmer, quieter.
Haruka still held part of the stack, walking in calm rhythm. Kotarō adjusted his grip on the borrowed pages.
"Thanks for coming," she said casually. "They like noise. Sorry if it was a lot."
"No. It was... fine," Kotarō replied.
A beat passed.
"You were really good back there," he added. "Like, actually impressive."
Haruka glanced at him, her expression unreadable.
"That a compliment?"
"Yeah. Don't expect a second one."
"It just came out. Honest. No drafts. No edits. Maybe that's why it worked."
They reached the windows lining the second-floor hallway. Below, the festival prep was in full swing. Students ran around the courtyard with cardboard props, armfuls of paint, ropes, and decorations.
Speakers were testing audio near the gym. Everything was moving.
Haruka stopped.
"Tomorrow's our last day to prep," she said.
Kotarō watched the crowd below.
"So it's really starting, huh. Not just the festival. Everything." "After tomorrow, there's no hiding behind silence."
Chapter End