ALL NOVEL Chapter 14: The Enigma
The room was thick with tension after Youseke Arima left, as if the air had shifted with his departure. The click of the door echoed, but no one moved. President Kenzaki let out a long, weary sigh, still staring at the door as though he could somehow make sense of what had just transpired.
“What a troublesome boy,” Kenzaki muttered under his breath, a rare flicker of frustration in his usually composed demeanor.
Kuze, sitting casually but clearly more intrigued than ever, broke the silence. “Kaichou, I’ve been meaning to ask... what exactly happened during the deliberation with the administration?”
Yuki, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, looked up, her brow furrowed slightly in concern. “I have the same question as Masachika-kun.” Her voice was softer than usual, laced with curiosity and a hint of unease.
Kenzaki folded his arms, his gaze still distant, replaying the events in his mind. “Truth be told,” he began slowly, “even I didn’t fully understand it at the time. The principal was just as shocked as I was. We weren’t prepared for how Arima handled things.”
“Huh?” Kuze blinked, his laid-back demeanor replaced with disbelief. “What do you mean?”
“Wait, President.” Masha leaned in, her voice eager with curiosity. “What exactly did Arima-kun do to throw off the principal?”
Even Taniyama, who had been sitting stiffly, listening in silence, perked up at that. Her eyes were focused, trying to piece together the enigma that was Arima.
Kenzaki didn’t respond right away. He looked contemplative, almost reluctant to speak, as though he were still trying to come to terms with the experience himself.
It was Sarashina who finally broke the silence, sensing the others’ growing impatience. She straightened her posture and took a breath before explaining.
“To be honest, it was impressive in its own way. Arima-kun didn’t get defensive or try to avoid the tough questions. He didn’t argue either. But the way he responded... it felt like he had already thought through what might be asked. It was as if he had considered the conversation before it even began, while staying calm and measured the entire time.”
Kuze frowned, his interest piqued.
“So, what? He just... out-talked the principal?”
Sarashina gave a small, frustrated nod.
“Not just that. From the moment he entered the room, he stayed calm and collected. Every answer he gave was direct, without any unnecessary words. Even when the principal tried to press him for more, Arima-kun would subtly steer the conversation in another direction. It felt less like he was taking control and more like he had already thought through how it might play out.”
Kenzaki nodded, finally speaking up. “It was different from anything I’ve seen before. The principal clearly thought he could press Arima into explaining his absence, maybe even push him to take some kind of responsibility. But instead of deflecting, Arima calmly redirected the conversation. It wasn’t that he dodged the issue—he just presented it as if it had been a natural consequence of the circumstances.”
“He didn’t make the principal look weak,” Sarashina added, her tone still tinged with surprise, “but he definitely had the upper hand. At times, it felt like Arima was guiding the conversation more than we were.”
“Guiding?” Masha raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly.
Kenzaki sighed.
“Yes. Arima was so calm and measured that by the end, it felt like the principal was struggling to keep up. He wasn’t just answering the questions—we were responding to him as much as he was to us. It was unnerving how smoothly he navigated the entire conversation.”
“It didn't look like arrogance, though,” Sarashina clarified. “He wasn’t showing off. He just didn’t waver.”
Kuze let out a low whistle. “So, he’s careful with his words.”
Kenzaki nodded, more thoughtfully this time.
“That’s a good way to put it. The principal wasn’t exactly caught off guard, but there were moments where he seemed unsure how to move forward. Arima didn’t disrupt the conversation; he just steered it in a way that made you question what was being asked in the first place.”
Taniyama, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke.
“But how could he do that? He’s just a student.”
Sarashina shook her head lightly.
“That’s what we thought. But Arima-kun... he had an answer for everything, almost like he had prepared for every angle. When the principal questioned his commitment to the academy, he turned it around and questioned whether the academy had really supported him.”
“It didn’t feel like he was trying to win anything,” Kenzaki added, still puzzled. “He was just cautious, like he had thought everything through before even stepping into the room. There were no gaps in his reasoning. The principal didn’t know how to push any further without repeating himself.”
By the end, the principal wasn’t defeated—just... unsure of how to proceed. There was no flaw in Arima’s logic.”
This version frames Arima as careful, calculated, and thoughtful rather than a dominating presence, with a focus on his cautious nature.
Masha blinked. “So, what did the principal do?”
Kenzaki’s shoulders slumped slightly. “What could he do? There was nothing left to say. In the end, the principal had no choice but to hand the matter over to us, the student council. He couldn’t make any demands of Arima without looking unreasonable.”
Sarashina crossed her arms, her frustration still evident. “I’ve never seen anything like it. The principal struggled to get through to him. But Arima-kun barely flinched.”
The room was quiet as the council members processed the situation. Kuze, always trying to lighten the mood, let out a chuckle, but there was a thoughtful edge to it.
“So, we’re dealing with someone who can hold his ground in any conversation,” he said, a little more serious now.
“Right,” Kenzaki replied, his voice lower. “He has a way of making you feel like his reasoning is airtight, even when you suspect there’s more going on.”
“Arima-kun...” Yuki murmured; her brows slightly furrowed. “He’s not just clever—he’s deliberate. Every word seems chosen for a reason.” Kenzaki nodded.
“Which is why we need to tread carefully. He’s not someone you can push into a corner. If we want to keep him here at the academy, we need to understand his approach, not just try to force ours.”
“Well, this definitely got more complicated,” Kuze muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Not that I mind, but... yeah, this’ll be interesting.”
“He’s definitely someone to keep an eye on,” Masha added, her usual playful tone subdued.
While the others were engrossed in the ongoing discussion about Arima, Alya remained quiet. Outwardly, she appeared composed, seemingly indifferent to the storm of intrigue Arima had stirred up. She leaned back slightly in her chair, arms crossed, her expression calm and aloof, as if all the talk about Arima wasn’t worth her attention.
But inside, it was a different story.
The truth was, she was shaken—more shaken than she would ever admit. The more she listened to Kenzaki, Sarashina, and the others talk about Arima, the more it unnerved her. Alya didn’t know how to feel about him, not fully. On the surface, he seemed like someone who couldn’t care less about anything or anyone, a complete sociopath who had mastered the art of detachment. But deep down, there was something off, something that suggested there was more to him than his cold demeanor.
Her thoughts began to race.
Why would someone go to such lengths to deflect questions? Why did he avoid talking about his future like it wasn’t even a possibility?
The more Alya thought about it, the more uneasy she felt. What could possibly drive someone to behave like that? His disappearance, the way he held the upper hand in every conversation, his reluctance to share anything personal—it all pointed to something deeper. Maybe Arima was in some serious trouble.
Family, perhaps? She thought, recalling his brief mention of priorities. His coldness could be a defense mechanism, a way to protect himself from the weight of whatever he was facing.
Alya’s brow furrowed slightly, her thoughts swirling. Could it be that he really was hiding something tragic?
Despite her outwardly nonchalant attitude, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. For someone to distance themselves from everything—friendship, school, the future—there had to be a reason. And whatever that reason was, it had shaken her. She didn’t understand it, not fully, but it felt as though Arima was burdened by something far beyond what any of them were capable of dealing with.
Maybe it really was something to do with his family, she thought, her mind trying to piece together the fragments of what little she knew of him.
But what unnerved her more than anything was the look in his eyes. That emptiness, that absolute lack of trust in anyone. It was like he had already accepted that no one could help him. He kept everyone at arm’s length, and Alya couldn’t help but wonder why.
Was it fear? Pain? Or was it simply because he had learned not to trust anyone anymore?
Alya shook her head slightly, dispelling the thoughts before they could take root any deeper. She didn’t want to think about Arima any longer than necessary. But the unease lingered. He was an enigma—one she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve. Yet, the more she tried to distance herself, the more her curiosity grew, gnawing at her.
“Let’s move on,” she said, her voice calm and measured, as if to signal that the conversation about Arima had gone on long enough. She wasn’t about to let anyone see how deeply unsettled she truly was. “We have more important things to focus on than one student’s stubbornness.”
Kuze shot her a sidelong glance, his ever-observant eyes catching the slight tension in her words. “You’re right,” he agreed, though his smirk suggested he saw through her act. “But you gotta admit, he’s gonna be a hard one to ignore.”
Alya didn’t respond, simply letting the conversation shift as she mentally pushed Arima’s mystery to the back of her mind.
He was more than just a student, Alya realized. He was someone with demons, someone with a reason to keep the world at a distance. And despite her best efforts, she couldn’t stop wondering what those reasons were.
But that was something she’d keep to herself—for now.