---Notice---
Here is the conclusion to the last chapter.
I still don't see your powerstones.
My discord (Best server in the world): discord.gg/q2bXqSmS
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Here is a quote you may see in the new story I'm working on:
"A hero, huh? What does that even mean? I've done a lot of good in this world, but I've done bad too. So, what makes someone a hero? Is it just a numbers game—lives saved versus lives risked—or is there something more?
I suppose it doesn't really matter. Not now, at least. Whatever the answer, I'll keep doing what I've always done, no matter where it leads. Whether that makes me a hero or not… In the end, that's just a matter of perspective." ~Andrei Steele (Top ten hero), MwA
"The truth is simple: the system isn't just flawed—it's predictable. Its structure is rigid, and most people either follow it blindly or collapse under its weight. But I've learned how to see its weak points and how to exploit its design to serve my ambitions. Systems like these aren't meant to be fixed, dismantled, or replaced; they're meant to be used.
"Sorry… but couldn't this matter wait until after the sports festival?" Horikita asked her voice firm yet visibly strained, as we all gathered in one of the student council meeting rooms.
"That's not possible at this point," Chabashira responded quickly, arms crossed as she sat beside her. "We have two injured students and two formal reports from different classes filed against each other. At this point, it's best for the matter to be resolved swiftly before tensions between the classes deepen. The presence of injured classmates only increases the likelihood of further hostilities."
It further reinforced the reality that the school operated under strict procedures—principles that weren't just arbitrary but designed with a clear, systemic purpose. I had already known that to be the case when it came to the point system. But it was now becoming evident that this extended into social conflicts as well.
The school's framework was meticulous. If physical altercations could threaten expulsion, then surely severe social conflicts must be handled with equal seriousness.
That was a comforting realization… especially when considering my long-term objectives.
While the Advanced Nurturing High School offered a remarkable level of freedom to its students, even it understood the necessity of intervention in delicate matters.
Moments later, the sound of the door sliding open drew our attention as Student Council President Horikita stepped inside. Flanking him was none other than Miyabi Nagumo—an unusual presence in student council affairs, considering he rarely made appearances.
Of course, nothing ever happens without reason.
Both Horikita and Nagumo carried sleek laptops, their expressions unreadable. Moments later, Tachibana entered as well, a thick file tucked neatly beneath her arm. The school moved fast.
"Let's get this issue handled quickly," President Horikita stated as he surveyed the room. "If we manage that, we might still return to the sports festival before too much time has passed."
Then his eyes met mine.
"Yagami, will you be sitting over there, or are you coming up front?" Manabu asked, his tone uninterested.
"I guess I'll be sitting up front," I replied calmly, rising from my seat.
Ryuen smirked at my response.
Present in the room were the major figures involved—myself, Ryuen, Ishizaki, Sakagami, Horikita, Ayanokoji, Matsushita, and Chabashira. At the helm sat Vice President Nagumo and President Horikita with Tachibana standing behind him.
As I moved to reseat myself beside Nagumo and Horikita, Chabashira interjected, her voice hesitant. "I'm not sure if that's appropriate. Yagami's class is involved in this dispute. His presence could raise questions of bias."
President Horikita's gaze sharpened at the remark.
"My sister is also involved in this issue. Should I step down as well, Chabashira-sensei?" he asked. "Would you like to accuse me of bias while you're at it?"
Chabashira faltered, her shoulders stiffening slightly as she backed down. She understood the implicit warning.
There was little merit in challenging the student council president, especially one as capable as Manabu Horikita. In many cases, the influence of the student council surpassed that of the faculty. To offend its president meant risking your standing and the stability of your class. Teachers knew this. Even Chabashira knew better than to push further.
And it wasn't as if student council presidents being involved in matters concerning their own class was unheard of. In fact, it was practically a given. Corruption, or at least favoritism, was expected to a degree—subtly condoned by the very structure of the school.
And so, I moved forward to take my seat beside the senior council members.
Horikita then spoke, his laptop open and a printed document laid out before him.
"As I understand it," he began, "earlier in the festival, Kinoshita of Class B was injured. I won't get into the specifics, but she claims this injury was purposefully caused by Suzune Horikita. The evidence we've collected seems to back this up. Just recently, another student—Yosuke Hirata of Class D—was also injured. The report claims he was beaten mercilessly, his face smashed into a mirror by Daichi Ishizaki. Are these the accurate claims submitted by Classes B and D?"
Class D's Matsushita spoke first, her tone controlled but firm. "Yes, that's accurate. As you can see from the evidence Ayanokoji and I submitted, we were surprised to hear Hirata's screams echoing through the hallway as we took a walk. What we saw afterward… his condition was horrifying."
President Horikita nodded slightly before shifting his gaze between me and Ryuen. I remained silent, choosing not to speak unless necessary.
Ryuen, naturally, had no such restraint.
"Yes," Ryuen said, leaning forward, his voice laced with amusement. "Our Kinoshita was blatantly targeted by Horikita during the obstacle course race—clearly out of fear of losing such a simple event. It was merciless of her. You could even call it cowardly."
"I see," President Horikita replied calmly, flipping through the neatly grouped documents he'd been provided. Beside him, Nagumo mirrored the action, scanning quickly.
Nagumo was the next to speak.
"So, you're President Horikita's sister…" he said, eyes landing squarely on Suzune. "Tch. You're quite the disappointment. Seeing you in this situation is almost funny." He leaned back slightly in his chair. "Anyway, do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Horikita froze for a moment. It was subtle, but I noticed the way her throat tightened as she swallowed hard. The silence hung for a second too long before she finally found her voice.
"Well… I didn't purposely hurt Kinoshita," she said carefully. "She—no, Class B—set me up. Sure, there's evidence that I looked back at her, which slowed me down, but she was calling my name. And while saying someone's name isn't prohibited, neither is looking back at someone. Besides, there's no actual proof of the injury supposedly caused after the collapse—only the initial contact that led to it."
Nagumo flipped a page, uninterested in her emotional appeal. "There's no evidence that Kinoshita was calling your name," he replied flatly. "Obviously, a camera can't capture sound in that environment, so that hearsay. But what the footage does show is you repeatedly looking back and slowing down. That behavior could be seen as negligent, wouldn't you say?"
Horikita's eyebrows twitched in irritation. "How could you say that? In what world is it negligent to look behind yourself?"
Nagumo didn't flinch. "In competition," he said sharply, "all participants are expected to avoid creating unnecessary risks for others. If you repeatedly slowed down and looked back during an obstacle course that you knew was tightly packed, then your actions could reasonably be seen as negligent. Especially if those actions increased the risk of harm. So one could argue the question isn't just whether you intentionally harmed Kinoshita or even meant to hurt her, but whether your actions were reasonably foreseeable to cause harm."
He was playing with her, no doubt about it—but his words weren't baseless. He was toying with her under the guise of legalistic reasoning, and he was right. It was how negligence actually worked. Intention was only part of the equation. The rest was responsibility.
Nagumo then turned his attention to Ishizaki, his tone now more bored than anything else. "And what about you?" he asked lazily. "What do you have to say?"
If I were Ryuen and there was any way to avoid having someone as dumb as Ishizaki speak, I would've taken it. However, he was the only direct witness to the incident involving Hirata, and Ryuen had no time to prepare a cleaner strategy before this meeting. For now, he had to roll the dice.
Ishizaki stuttered, "Well I… well, it first started outside after break—"
"I don't want your whole life story," Nagumo interrupted. "I read the gist of it in the report. Just get to the point."
Ishizaki looked visibly irritated but did as he was told. "We went to talk in the bathroom. Hirata started mumbling some weird stuff, and then out of nowhere, he smashed his own head into the mirror. I didn't even touch him. Next thing I know, he's screaming for help, and suddenly, Ayanokoji and Matsushita walk in, recording everything."
Nagumo continued flipping through documents, but it was President Horikita who posed the next question.
"That's strange," Manabu said calmly. "Before you went to 'talk' to Hirata, we have surveillance footage of you and two other members of Class B patting him down, taking his phone. That doesn't quite paint a picture of someone who just wanted a peaceful conversation."
"W-well… it was supposed to be a sensitive conversation," Ishizaki replied quickly, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. "And if you look at the video, you can see Hirata wasn't really resisting the search."
"Sure," Manabu said, flipping to another page, "but then there's the matter of your bloodied T-shirt and body. You're wearing a clean shirt now since you were told to wash up and change, but when you were brought in, your clothes were covered in blood. Can you explain that?"
Ishizaki looked visibly cornered now, but he pressed forward. "While he was smashing his head, I tried to stop him. But after his third hit, he suddenly launched at me and bearhugged me. It wasn't until shortly after that when Ayanokoji and Matsushita walked in…"
He trailed off slightly at the end, perhaps realizing how flimsy his explanation sounded aloud.
"Well, it's kinda convenient that two members of Class D just happened to walk into the bathroom with their cameras ready right after Hirata screamed, isn't it?" Ryuen said, his voice laced with mockery as he placed both legs on top of the meeting table without a care. "If anything, it seems like Class B was set up here. Our Ishizaki was isolated, completely alone. Meanwhile, Hirata conveniently had allies nearby—perfectly positioned and ready."
The room went still for a moment. The accusation didn't carry hard proof, but it was enough to cast doubt.
Nagumo responded, obviously curious. "I can't say I disagree. It is overly convenient for Class D. It really does almost seem like a setup. But then again, you've provided no proof of the fact—"
"Then I'll provide it," Ryuen said, interrupting with a sly smirk curling on his lips. "If Hirata was planning to set us up, he'd have a motive. In this case, it probably has to do with the case against Horikita. And while I don't know why he took such drastic measures, I'd bet money that if we look at the surveillance recordings of who Hirata interacted with before he met with Ishizaki and my class… we'll find both Ayanokoji and Matsushita. That's how they set this all up so cleanly. That's why the whole situation feels so rehearsed. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if those two were the last people that idiot spoke to before launching his little performance."
President Manabu turned his eyes toward Tachibana. She, understanding immediately, met his gaze and gave a small nod, already reaching for her tablet—likely to pull every available recording of Hirata prior to the bathroom incident.
But before she could leave the room, Ayanokoji spoke.
"Wait," he said, not even raising his head. "There's no need for that. It's true—Matsushita and I were probably among the last people to speak with Hirata. That's exactly why we followed him."
All eyes turned toward Ayanokoji.
"Hirata didn't seem like he was in a stable state of mind when he spoke to us," he continued. "He was worried—specifically about Horikita being at risk of expulsion. He mentioned something about going to negotiate with Class B. That alone raised red flags. So we followed him to make sure he was okay. And the next thing we know, we hear him yelling from inside the bathroom. So, naturally, we ran in—phones out—wanting to record what had happened in case it was serious."
He was playing the role of the concerned classmate to perfection.
"Yes, exactly," Matsushita chimed in, nodding quickly. Her voice carried just the right level of concern to sound genuine. "We were both really worried about Hirata. He had mentioned the same things to both of us, separately. That's what made it even more alarming. So we followed him—not to interfere, just to watch over him. We didn't plan to step in unless something happened. And then we heard him scream…"
She let the sentence trail off at just the right emotional moment.
Their story was flawless. Their delivery clean, consistent, and coordinated. And if anyone decided to question Hirata directly, he'd most likely stick to the same version. Whether that was because it was true was another matter entirely.
"It seems the case against you is strong, Ishizaki," Nagumo said, eyes scanning the pages in front of him as he flipped casually through the report.
And unfortunately, he wasn't wrong.
This entire setup—undoubtedly enabled by Ayanokoji and engineered by Hirata—was brilliant in execution. Some might dismiss it as overcomplicated or far-fetched. But in a real court of law? There's a very real chance Ishizaki would be convicted based on the evidence.
The key issue wasn't even the violence itself. It was what happened before the injury. This is the opposite of the Kinoshita case: intent is key.
Hirata had been searched. His phone was taken from him before anything escalated. That alone painted a damning picture. It could easily be seen as an intentional move to strip him of his ability to communicate, to ask for help, or even to document the situation. Whether he resisted or not didn't matter. What mattered was how it framed the entire encounter.
In legal terms, it suggested premeditation. It created the illusion of intent.
After all, someone who just wants to talk doesn't begin by confiscating a phone.
What would you think if you were asked to hand over your phone by someone you are on bad terms with before a 'conversation'?
And when you factor in Ayanokoji and Matsushita's actions—their sudden appearance with cameras ready, their concerned expressions—it all falls into place. If Hirata had truly seemed unstable or anxious, their presence becomes reasonable. Their story becomes more believable.
Step back for a moment.
Imagine this.
A man is walking home at night. He's stopped by a police officer who says they need to speak privately.
He complies.
At the station, the man is searched for "security reasons." No weapons, no contraband—but his phone is taken anyway. No warrant, but no resistance either. He continues to cooperate, thinking he has nothing to hide.
He's led into a room. No cameras. No oversight.
Ten minutes later, he's found in that same room, bleeding and disoriented. His face is bruised, his hands trembling. Two other officers walk in and immediately switch on their body cams. They see the injured man sitting across from the officer who brought him in—an officer who now looks… nervous.
And just like that, the scene is set.
No footage. No audio. No proof of what actually happened. Just a bloodied suspect, a shaken officer, and a carefully timed start to the recording.
What happens next?
It's over. Headlines appear within hours: "Suspect Found Injured During Questioning." The public makes up its mind almost immediately.
Why wouldn't they?
The suspect was compliant. He gave up his phone. He walked into the room unharmed and walked out beaten. The visuals are enough. The narrative is simple.
And when the narrative is simple, it doesn't matter what the truth is. It doesn't matter if the officer never laid a hand on him. The only thing that matters is how the moment was framed—and who got to tell their story first.
Sounds extreme, right?
But it happens more than you'd think. Most people just don't know how the system works. They don't realize how easily intent can be fabricated. How easily perception can be bent.
And as for motive? It's not even complicated.
It's money.
In real-world cases, framing officers has become a profitable tactic, and in many of those cases, there usually are never witnesses or evidence. Lawsuits against departments can lead to massive payouts. It's not uncommon for officers to only start recording their body cams after an incident escalates. That gap—those missing minutes—can be filled with whatever story benefits the accuser most.
And the departments? They often settle. Not because they admit guilt but because the cost of court, the media backlash, and the risk of trial outweigh the payout. It's cheaper to settle quietly than to make a scene.
And so, the truth is buried under legal strategy and damage control.
That's what makes Hirata's setup so dangerous.
By having Ishizaki take his phone, they created the illusion of malice. They wrote a story of intent without saying a word. It's why there are thousands of innocent people in jail—the slightest hint of intent can be damning; in the U.S. alone, lowball estimates say over 10,000 individuals in prison right now are likely wrongfully incarcerated.
Hirata's setup isn't just believable—it's strategically airtight.
A perfect fabrication of intent, it's a masterpiece.
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I know you see this constantly, but I would love to hear your thoughts. I could see why some people wouldn't be fans of the scenario or events. I personally thought it was realistic when writing, which is why I went with the whole Hirata Ayanokoji setup. I also thought everyone enjoyed me actually using the whole student council, given that we don't see much of it in CoTE, which is why they have been included in everything here. But as always, I'm open to valid criticism, and I just generally want a true idea of people's enjoyment; it's hard to tell with chapters like these where it doesn't feel high stakes whether most people enjoy the story, which is why I always ask regardless of how important a chapter is.
Anyway, you guys are great, and I'll see you all again soon... Hopefully lol.