Chapter 82: Side Story - Public Axioms (1)

Chapter 82: Chapter 82: Side Story - Public Axioms (1)

Fāng Xuě’s monologue, POV

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?Fifteen seconds remaining.

?The room was bathed in the cold, electric hum of the digital boards. Faction A and Faction C had finalized our locked transmissions, our subtle dance of exchange echoing through the school’s internal network.

?Faction B remained completely motionless, anchored by Nanami’s deliberate refusal to play our game.

?Still, we weren’t in a hurry; let’s just take it slow if possible.

?Ginton looked up from his terminal, his gaze cutting across the room until it locked directly onto Nanami’s. Across the aisle, my eyes flicked toward Nanami’s section as well, my expression tight with guarded calculation.

?We were waiting for her response. We wanted to know how the leader of the leading faction would react to our coalition.

?She didn’t flinch, though, nor did she return our gaze with hostility. I simply closed my tablet halfway, letting the screen dim into darkness, and waited for the clock to run down.

?Delaying isn’t going to help; she already knows that. Every interval, it was a protocol to make a transaction between factions, so she couldn’t withhold.

?The classroom—immediately as the clock ticked past the 15-second mark—was struck by the harsh blue glow of the digital countdown reflecting off the polished surface of the center aisle.

?The low hum of quiet tension in the room was suddenly broken by the sharp, metallic scrape of a chair pushing back against the floorboards.

?In Faction A’s section, a tall student with wire-rimmed glasses stood up. He didn’t look back at me for permission; he had clearly been briefed and given his instructions. Adjusting his collar, he cleared his throat, his voice carrying clearly across the silent hall.

?"On behalf of Faction A," he announced, his tone flat and formal, "we are issuing a public statement regarding our liquidity policy for this interval."

?That’s okay.

?Every head in the room turned toward him. Up front, I remained seated, my hands resting quietly over my tablet, my expression completely unreadable.

?I had switched from the chess game I was originally playing into checkers.

?I was already bored out of my mind with how easy it was besting the hardest system-level difficulty.

?I paused, just remembering that Suzune had mentioned before today that I should be playing something more girl-like, maybe dress-up or something like that. But anytime I looked at the applications and mechanics, I just didn’t feel that interested in them.

?Maybe I don’t understand it? Wait, doesn’t that mean it’s difficult for me? Should I try it?

?The student paused just long enough to let the silence settle, then delivered the line I had meticulously engineered:

?"A will not make a large transfer to B this interval unless B makes a large transfer first."

?A ripple of low murmurs broke out across the rows.

?In Nanami’s section, a girl named Ichika leaned forward to Nanami, her brow furrowing deeply. "Wait. What does that even mean? Is that a threat, or are they begging us to make the first move?"

?"Neither," Reina said quietly, her eyes narrowing as she mentally dissected the phrasing.

?"It’s a technical truth. If Faction A doesn’t transfer anything to us—which they won’t—the statement remains entirely valid under the Lex Veritas protocol. It’s a psychological lever designed to pressure us into breaking our silence."

?During all this, I had anticipated that Ginton would make some kind of move after my announcement.

?Whether to make it look more convincing that we are both operating together, or to pressure Faction B further.

?He had a hold on Faction B’s psychological state. All through the week before the test, I had made sure to instruct my members not to investigate anything related to the test so as not to attract any unnecessary traps.

?Not to mention, there wasn’t any need to do so, and it was a bait from C.

?Before the murmurs could even begin to die down, a sharp tap echoed from the opposite side of the room.

?Ginton didn’t even bother standing up. He simply raised a hand lazily, gesturing to one of Faction C’s inner circle, who immediately stood and picked up the thread without missing a beat.

?"Faction C has a public update as well," the student declared, pitching his voice to carry across the entire hall. "C has no current intention of transferring more than 50 units to B this interval."

?The double-tap of public statements hit the room like a localized shockwave.

?Ginton’s statement was a masterpiece of legalistic manipulation. If Faction C transferred zero units, or even thirty units, the statement remained 100% true. But to anyone listening, it created an immediate, suffocating illusion: Faction A and Faction C were aligning their messaging.

?Across the aisle, my eyes flicked sideways toward Ginton for a fraction of a second.

?Even though we had coordinated our maneuvers through private channels, C’s public echo of A’s pressure tactics was a bold escalation.

?Another corner. Check the angle. Check the other angle. Move two inches. Wait.

?Why am I doing this? My hands are literally sweating, my chest feels tight, and for what? To stare at a digital wall for three minutes straight, waiting for a pixel to move.

?People call this "thrilling." It’s not thrilling; it’s an exhausting chore. It’s like babysitting a bomb that might or might not explode, except I’m paying for the privilege. Every muscle in my neck is locked up. I can feel a headache blooming right behind my eyes. I’m tense, but I’m also completely, utterly bored out of my mind.

?It’s the worst combination possible: high stakes and zero actual fun. If I make one tiny mistake, if my reaction time is off by a millisecond, it’s over and I have to redo the last twenty minutes of creeping around in the dark. So I’m trapped in this loop of hyper-vigilance, paralyzed by the fear of losing progress, while my brain slowly turns to mush from the monotony.

?I just want to turn the corner and have something happen. Shoot me, scare me, let me win—just end the suspense. This isn’t entertainment; it’s a second job that doesn’t pay.

?Okay. Suzune’s protocols were breath. Moving forward. One, two, three...

?God, I hate this game. I’m going to play for another minute or so.

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"Mind and my Heart will always remain separate spaces to fill"

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