Prologue

It was the middle of September. The oppressive summer heat was gone along with the end of the summer holidays, slowly giving way to the chill of the autumn winds.

For Houtarou, it was a time to be cherished. Not because of the colors, or the smell of crisp air. Rather, it simply meant nothing out of the ordinary would happen because it was only the third week of the new school year. A peaceful time before school festivals and trips, before any exams. Before any mystery would rear its head around the corner. A time when he could hold true to his motto.

Like now. It was school's last period, and his classmates were busy trying to understand algebra and copying every single formula down into their notebook, the silence only drowned out by the teacher's droning explanations or the occasional quiet chatter among close seats. Some were even sprawled out on their table, finally succumbing to the constant sleep attacks. Yes, peaceful and uneventful.

At least that was what he wanted to think.

He sighed once and eyed that little piece of paper in his hand he had found in his locker during lunch, slipped carefully under his white sports shoes, and the message written across it in neat handwriting.

Houtarou had seen – well, observed as a bystander as it might be more accurately described – all sorts of harmless pranks pulled using the infernal lockers, from 'borrowed' shoes to an additional, uninvited lock. Houtarou had thankfully never been a victim of those; probably because his classmates deemed him too boring to pull a prank on. Which was a good thing, in Houtarou's honest opinion.

And then there was everyone's favorite – the fake love letter. Somehow, for reasons Houtarou couldn't fathom, it was apparently something satisfying to see a guy getting all flushed and jumpy, only to fall into utter embarrassment and deflation when he found out the letter was actually sent by his goofy friends.

But those tended to be long and elaborate, sometimes wrapped in a cute envelope adorned with a colorful sticker, complete with all the small details that made it ever more convincing.

This. This was different.

For one thing, something like this had happened to him before, twice. Not a random scribble about love and confessions, but a self-same piece of note claiming to foretell a certain future.

The whole ordeal had started mild and innocent enough – although future-telling prophecies were probably anything but innocent. Two weeks ago, when Houtarou first found the note in his locker after school with the same unidentifiable handwriting, it had read: Bring your umbrella. It's going to rain in 20 minutes.

'Did anyone drop this?' was the only response it elicited from the slightly confused Houtarou, before he threw it away in the trashcan and began his 30 minute-walk home, barely noticing the obviously clear skies up above. He was drenched to the toe when he arrived home.

And then again a week ago, when it read: You will be in charge of cleaning duty today. The original person in charge will be sick and will not be available.

The poor boy had assumed that his teacher had left him that note, though for whatever reason his teacher did that he wouldn't know. The strange use of the future tense was not lost on him either.

In the end, a certain classmate of his collapsed due to a fever, and his teacher had listed him to be responsible of after-school cleaning.

Today, seeing this note for a third time, he started to think all those occurrences had not been a coincidence after all. But what did this all mean?

He stared at the little scrap of paper. Someone from class 2-C is going to confess to you after school. And frowned.

'Uh… make sure you understand all of it. Okay, class dismissed.' The sound of his teacher pulled him out of his reverie, followed by a well-timed ring of the school bell that earned some sighs of reprieve from his classmates. Slowly, the room livened to after-school chatter about going-whereabouts.

Houtarou packed up his own stuff and left, interrupted only by a light pat on his shoulder.

'Yo, Houtarou,' Satoshi, bag slung casually over his shoulder, said as he circled to walk beside him. Houtarou covertly pocketed the note still held in his hand and turned toward his friend. By sheer luck, they were to be classmates again this year. This made it the fifth year the unlikely duo would have homeroom class together.

'Sorry!' Satoshi said as he held out his hand apologetically. 'I know we're supposed to meet up today, but I'm gonna have to take a rain check. I've got my hands pretty tied up by the student council.'

Satoshi was probably referring to the Classics Club's 'first official meeting of the year', as phrased by the insistent Eru Chitanda, even though it was still only the four of them. Maybe she liked to keep these things formal.

'Applications are quickly filing in for the set up of new clubs,' Satoshi explained further. 'We're the ones in charge of approving them.'

'Must be a pain,' Houtarou groaned for his friend's sake, but quietly thankful he was not the one to have to deal with this outpour of energy.

'It may seem like a hassle,' Satoshi admitted. 'But it can be pretty exciting at the same time. They're all so creative in naming their clubs. "The Invincible Squadron!" –' he jabbed an aggressive finger at Houtarou. ' – has got to be my favorite so far. I hear the members are pretty skilled in karate.'

What happened to the good old fashioned 'Karate Club' then? Houtarou mused quietly as they rounded a corner and descended the stairs.

'Still, the numbers are pretty overwhelming. It's barely been a month, and we're getting as many as fifty applications. Supposedly, the success of last year's Kanya Fest has a lot to do with it. Some of the freshmen here chose this school just because they came to the festival last year.'

Houtarou's mind flashed back to a year ago, to Mayaka's overprinted volumes of Hyouka, to the loud, vibrant colors just about everywhere he looked, and to a particular incident that he had somehow got himself involved in, but resolved (less-than) peacefully in the end. The Juumonji Incident, or the mysterious thief of Kamiyama High as some called it, had created quite the buzz, and had been the talk of the school and even outsiders for a short amount of time.

'It makes me want to do something grand this year too, you know?' Satoshi said as he pumped his fist into the air. 'Can't let the newcomers win, after all.'

'As long as you don't drag me into it…' Houtarou muttered, and got a chuckle from Satoshi in return.

They reached the floor and Satoshi bid goodbye. As Houtarou entered the second building and into the lone corridor where the Classics Club room was, he was caught slightly in surprise when someone called out his name.

'O-Oreki!'

He turned. Came into his view was a small-statured girl with slightly off-chestnut hair tied into a messy bun. A pair of golden eyes, now cast downwards on the floor, shimmered in the setting sun.

'Mizuki-san?'

Eriko Mizuki. A shy girl in nature, Houtarou had first got to know her during a friendly trip over the summer holidays a month ago. To his knowledge, she had entered class 2-C this year, along with Eru and Mayaka. They had not spoken much, not that the shy girl was particularly fond of speaking in the first place, a trait Houtarou could appreciate in his mind, quite unlike a certain constantly nabbing Mayaka. Houtarou wondered what prompted this encounter. A strange girl, she was, he had thought. And she was behaving very strangely indeed.

'I-I… um… here!' Mizuki started as she directed her gaze further downwards, outstretched hands clutching a single envelope like it was the most important thing in the world.

Houtarou's eyes widened a bit in shock as he studied the little envelope, the hand-drawn yet subtle floral patterns around the rim, and the two words that were written in clearly practiced handwriting: To Houtarou-kun.

After a moment of thick uncertain silence, the girl spoke again, this time barely above a whisper, 'This is for you.'

'Oh,' Houtarou said, his mind still in a trance. He might not understand the rosy colors that well, or appreciate how some people could devote their entire energy reserve on it, but he definitely didn't consider himself an inconsiderate person. So he took the envelope with as much care as the girl had demonstrated, and said in as earnest a voice as he could muster, 'Um… thank you.'

He was definitely not used to this. What should he say next?

Eriko, whose confidence seemed to have returned a little by Houtarou's assuring voice, but which was apparently not enough to brush off the furiously red shade that adorned her cheeks, ventured in a small tone, 'Ore- Houtarou-kun, I-I like you.'

Her hands were balled into fists, and her voice almost trailed off at the end, but her courage had somehow seen it through. Then she ran off in the opposite direction.

As the girl made her hasty retreat, Houtarou stood, still dumbfounded. The pale exterior of the envelope seemed to turn transparent in the sun that shone through the 4/F windows, allowing Houtarou a glimpse at the pure white paper concealed underneath.

What had he done to attract such rosy colors? Much less without himself knowing so? In all honesty, he had barely even known the girl that long. What part of his dull gray life could she so immediately be attracted to?

But there was another matter, one that a corner of his rational mind had seized on after he had calmed down a little. His eyes darted once to the hidden note sitting in his pocket. He pulled it out briefly to check the class.

Unknowingly, he let out a contemplative 'hmm', before making his way to the Classics Club Room.

A/N:

- I haven't seen Hyouka in a while. If I made any technical mistakes, like someone suddenly jumping a year, or the name of the school deciding to change on its own, feel free to tell me :)

- Readers of the fifth book can treat this as an AU, otherwise you can see this as a sequel.