Chương 89: 35.Kushima Sisters 36-2

Before I could open my mouth, she stepped closer—with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly how to hijack another person's rhythm.

"I'm a third-year Kushima." Her tone was level. She paused deliberately, giving me half a beat to connect the surname to the person already in my head.

"Aki Kushima. Student Council President." … Right. No wonder that smile looked like an official notice and a death warrant delivered in the same envelope. I hadn't finished adjusting my expression before she extended her hand. I hesitated for less than half a beat, then reached out and shook it. Her grip was steady, pressure perfectly calibrated—not too firm, not too light. That was exactly the problem. Truly dangerous people never need to squeeze.

They just make contact, and you start second-guessing your posture, your breathing, whether you should have spoken first.

"I'm Maki's older sister." She held my gaze, that impossible-to-classify smile still there—too polite for an ambush, too sharp for comfort.

"Thank you for looking after Maki, Cadet Hoshino." My response came out almost on reflex.

"She doesn't need looking after." The words were out before I could stop them. Direct, probably too direct for someone talking to the Student Council President. But they were also honest, and somehow that felt more important than protocol right now. Aki's smile shifted slightly—not disappearing, but changing quality. Like she'd been testing something and gotten the answer she expected.

"No," she said, voice carrying a note of something that might have been approval.

"I don't imagine she does."

"Not at all—if anything, I'm the one being looked after by your sister." That wasn't just politeness. Maki Kushima was a pain in the ass, and her way of talking made you want to throw things at her on a regular basis, but since joining the group she'd patched more gaps than I'd originally expected. The problem was that coming from my mouth, a statement like that felt wrong in every direction, so the moment I said it I felt uncomfortable. Aki seemed to find this amusing.

Her gaze rested on my face for two seconds before she unhurriedly shifted direction.

"Not participating in Family Visitation Day, Cadet Hoshino?" I looked at her.

"…Ma'am, that's a question you already know the answer to."

"You're right, you're right. My apologies." She smiled—more politely than before, which somehow made it worse.

"In that case, to make up for it, let me tell you a secret." Every alarm in my head went off simultaneously. When people like her offer to tell you secrets, it's not about bonding. It's about dangling a hook to see if you'll bite. Aki paid no attention to the mental caution tape I was rapidly stringing up. She turned and walked slowly along the rooftop's perimeter fence—built absurdly high, like the Federation was worried some overstressed student might decide to help reduce the system's overhead.

The wind was strong, pulling at her high ponytail, and she simply raised one hand to hold it down, moving as naturally as if this were her private garden instead of the Lower House dorm roof.

"The Kushima family has a rather unpleasant rule for anyone we consider qualified to advance," she said, tone perfectly light.

"Things like this live-deployment drill—they must be undertaken alongside Lower House students. No exceptions." This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. I frowned. On the surface it sounded like some kind of character-building philosophy. Strip it down and the reality was simple. Not cultural exchange. Not understanding the grassroots. Not Upper House suddenly developing a conscience.

It was taking whoever they'd cultivated and throwing them into dirtier, messier, closer-to-the-ground situations to see if they only had brains on paper, or if they could actually survive. Of course a family like that would produce Maki Kushima. Aki glanced back at me, clearly satisfied with whatever had flashed across my face.

"So this year's original arrangement was to let Maki pick any group and go down," she said.

"At first, that's what she told me. Get assigned somewhere, pass if possible, find another approach if not." Her steps stopped. She turned fully and looked directly at me. The wind hadn't dropped, but something cold crept up my spine.

"Until yesterday," she said.

"For the first time in her life, she came to me asking—begging—to be transferred into your specific group." I froze. Not performed stillness. Actually caught off guard. Aki apparently felt no obligation to give me recovery time. She finished the thought with a calmness that felt almost cruel.

"Maki has tremendous pride," she said.

"So much that if you put a gun to her head, she'd probably critique your grip before deciding whether to die." … Shit. That was disturbingly accurate. My brain was still processing the concept of Maki Kushima begging her sister for anything when Aki stepped forward. I had warning. I genuinely had warning. I was still half a beat too slow. She closed the distance in one smooth movement, both hands settling around my upper arms.

Not a rough grab, not an emotional lunge—something precise and unsettling, the kind of controlled hold that told you this wasn't her first time managing the space between herself and another person. The pressure wasn't heavy, but it landed exactly at the point just before I would step back, locking me in place. My shoulders went rigid.

"Ma'am—" She held my gaze. That composed smile she'd maintained throughout was somehow more alarming at this distance than no expression at all.

"I'm entrusting Maki to you, Hoshino Shimo." For the first time, she used my full name, voice dropping low enough that the words felt meant for me alone.

"Please bring her back alive." My throat tightened. The response I'd been forming stuck halfway. That wasn't an ordinary request. Not sisterly emotional entrustment, not social politeness. She knew perfectly well that Maki had chosen to join. She also knew that a place like the live-deployment zone wouldn't show mercy because your surname was Kushima. So she didn't say take care of her or look out for her. She said: bring her back alive. Heavy as hell.

Before I could figure out how to respond, she released me, stepped back, and bowed—clean, deliberate, unhesitating. I froze completely. Wait. Hold on. Student Council President. Upper House senior. Maki Kushima's older sister. The woman who'd just made my spine crawl. Was bowing to me. The sight was so wrong I would have preferred she just hit me with a clipboard. She straightened like nothing unusual had happened—like she'd simply completed a necessary procedure.

Then she turned toward the roof door, walking unhurriedly, as if everything worth saying had been said and only cleanup remained. And then she casually delivered the killing blow.

"Oh, by the way," she said without turning. The chill crept right back up my neck. Aki paused at the door, turned just enough to show half her face, and added with a pleasant smile:"Please don't be too hard on Cadet Hoffmann." My stomach dropped. She gave no sign of noticing my expression freeze.

"The situation with him and Nikaido—that was done with my approval," she said, voice still light.

"So whatever you're holding, don't push too hard if you can avoid it. He's just a coward, not a bad person." I stood there, and even the wind hitting my face felt like it was passing through glass. Fuck. Fuck. How the hell did she know? Me having leverage on Linde wasn't supposed to exist for a third party. Even if Linde had guessed I'd recorded something, he wasn't stupid enough to go around reporting it. And Aki's comment hadn't been fishing. She knew.

Knew it cleanly, thoroughly, right down to calculating exactly when I'd freeze. Aki seemed entirely satisfied with the horror on my face. She raised a hand and gave me a small wave.

"Until next time, Cadet Hoshino." Then she pushed through the door and was gone. The metal door shut quietly. But I stood there for several more seconds, the sensation of her grip still lingering on my arms like invisible pressure marks under the skin. Fuck. That woman was terrifying. Not the kind of terrifying that shouts and tears you apart until you're bleeding. A different kind.

She'd been perfectly polite from start to finish—could even call it pleasant—and yet somehow you only realized after she'd turned away that she'd probably taken you completely apart and examined every piece while you stood there. I had nearly lost control of my bladder. Genuinely. And the worst part wasn't that she knew about Linde. The worst part was how she'd brought it up—like a casual reminder: You think you're holding the knife? I've already seen what you keep up your sleeve.

Standing in the wind, the more I thought about it, the colder I got.