The Story of How I, a Guy Who Couldn’t Care Less About School Castes, Somehow Ended Up Making All the Five-Star Gals Fall for Me - Chapter 22: The Refined Girl I’d Never Seen Before

Chapter 22: The Refined Girl I’d Never Seen Before

And so, after school arrived.

I made my way to the empty classroom written in the mysterious letter.

Reluctantly, I knocked on the door. No reply.

“…I’m coming in.”

Bracing myself, I slid the door open.

The room was empty.

Well, I had come earlier than the time written in the letter—maybe the sender just hadn’t arrived yet.

I took a careful look around the classroom.

No one was hiding, no weird traps or setups.

Just in case, I left the door open as an escape route.

After checking everything within sight, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

“…So it really was just a prank?”

This was a problem.

Even after the appointed time had passed, no one showed.

Standing here waiting like an idiot wasn’t appealing—but there was always the chance they were simply running late.

Unsure what to do, I drifted toward the window. The view outside wasn’t particularly interesting.

As I stared absentmindedly, the sound of footsteps reached me—and a girl entered the classroom.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

I turned back toward the entrance.

There stood a girl who looked every bit the refined young lady.

Long black hair, eyes downcast over a perfectly composed face.

Taller than most girls, with a strikingly good figure.

Her uniform was worn neatly, skirt at the proper length, giving off a graceful air.

She should’ve been in the same year as me—but I’d never seen her before.

“You’re the one who sent me that letter?”

“Yes. Thank you for coming, just as promised.”

Her reply came in a soft whisper, almost delicate.

She stopped just far enough away that her voice barely carried.

Who was she?

Even with my small circle of acquaintances, I couldn’t recall ever seeing her before.

“You’re a second-year too, right? Sorry, but… who are you?”

Since I had no clue, I could only ask directly.

“So you really don’t recognize me.”
“This is the first time we’ve talked, isn’t it?”
“No. I’ve spoken with you many times, Kizuki-kun.”
“…What!?”

Nope. Nothing. I couldn’t remember her at all.

The number of classmates I’d actually spoken to was tiny.

I wasn’t in any clubs or committees, so if anything, it had to be someone from my class.

But was there ever such a refined-looking girl in my class?

Or maybe from last year’s? Still… I was sure I’d remember someone like her.

“Sorry, I don’t know.”

“That’s so sad.”

She covered her face with her hands, pretending to cry.

“Kizuki-kun, you really do always make girls cry, don’t you?”

“…So that’s my reputation now?”

“After all, didn’t you make Suitengu-san cry?”

Ah. So the infamous Hari Suitengu crying incident had spread that far.

Figures. The Fives really were celebrities in this school.

“That was an accident—or rather, complicated circumstances that are hard to explain…”

“So you just pretend to be kind, but really you’re the enemy of women. How awful.”

She turned her back on me, bristling with anger.

“That’s a misunderstanding.”

“Then explain those so-called ‘circumstances’ with Suitengu-san!”

“That’s…”

I hadn’t even told Hari the truth about us.

There was no way I could spill it to some outsider—especially a girl whose name I didn’t even know.

“So it’s the kind of shady relationship you can’t talk about. Poor Suitengu-san.”

She pressed on mercilessly, not letting a moment of silence pass—like she was determined to paint me the villain.

“Cut the weird speculation. Don’t drag me here in secret just to play her so-called defender.”

At the very least, Hari and I weren’t on bad terms right now.

“I am her defender. More than anyone else.”

“…If this is just some overzealous fan act, quit it. That kind of ‘justice’ will only bother her—and piss me off too.”

“And what’s with you acting like you’re the one who understands Hari the best!?”

Her words came sharp, full of heat. Then she slipped—called her Hari.

I took a good, hard look at her again, and the déjà vu finally clicked.

“When did you change your hair color… Kongouji?”

Yeah. I dropped the honorific—because now I was pissed.