Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Ample example of that time-worn saying could be readily found in the abyssal bowels of the Service Club, where the devil I knew better than any other lurked every after-school hour, waiting to devour the next unwitting victim of her relentless, insatiable hunger for self-satisfaction. Beside her at all times was one who was far more modest and milder in her expressions, yet made equally sure to let me know in the most uncertain of terms if she was displeased by my social transgressions, which I – in both their pairs of eyes – was wont to frequently commit. Together, they combined to create a formidable duo that kept my delusions of adequacy in check, lest I bring upon them unnecessary disrepute by mere virtue of association.

Isshiki didn't wear her scorn on her sleeve as obviously as Yukinoshita did, nor did she ever adopt the kind of naivety of soul and linearity of thought that were Yuigahama's hallmarks. She was her own kind of creature, one who walked the full gamut of possible personalities, a Frankenstein's monster patched together with shreds torn from everyone around her. Still, I'd begun to allow myself to think that I'd had her largely figured out. Having seen the myriad ways in which she reacted to rejection, I anticipated some form of frustration, disappointment, maybe even anger – genuine or otherwise.

Perhaps she would smile, an expression that, when painted on her lips, said a thousand unspoken words, an essay of emotions that spanned the spectrum between resignation to rage. Perhaps she would simply and amusedly say, "Your loss, Senpai", and turn away before her face could begin to crease with annoyance. Or perhaps she would find some other way to lay me low, suggest the existence of a relationship that was never there, that I was clutching at a mirage of straws emanating from the barren desert of my romantic experience. Whatever it was, I thought I was ready to play any game she cared to throw at me.

I gazed upon the visage of she whose irresistible advances had just been, well, resisted.

And there, written across the canvas of Isshiki's delicate features, was nothing. Just an empty page, as unblemished and untouched as the career plan survey that still lay on my desk in the classroom. It was as if she were entering the seventh hour of a ten-hour movie about paint drying, all the suspense and all the pretense long since drained from her ochre eyes, replaced by the kind of numbness that was the product of however long a time spent deliberately without thought, spreading like a slow poison through one's body until there was no room left for life.

She opened her mouth, and I expected – hoped for, even, against my better judgment – her to admonish me, to laugh at my poor choices, to yell at me as she stamped her feet in a childlike tantrum. To show something, anything.

"Oh, really," she said.

And that was it. She blankly turned away and retreated down the corridor, leaving the gaping, breathless void of her silence trailing behind her. Only when the last vestiges of her silhouette disappeared into the crowd did the sights and sounds of the world around me seem to return – as though I had reached the end of a night at the theater, when the lights were flickered on and the audience began to murmur and chatter amongst themselves as they made their way to the exit.

If all the world was a stage, though, then this was certainly – from my perspective – the worst performance Isshiki could've possibly given. Not least because, by not reacting at all, she had made sure I couldn't react either. I could only stand there, wanting to be annoyed at her for refusing to rise to my challenge, wanting to feel guilty for something that clearly wasn't my fault. Instead, there was only melancholy. Resignation. Nothing.

So engrossed was I in my own emptiness that I failed to spot the flash of pink that retreated around the nearest corner, or the footsteps pattering hurriedly away from the scene of my latest crime. Maybe on another day, in another time, I would have noticed and planned accordingly. Now, though, I was only concerned with hauling myself towards the only place at school where I might hopefully find someone who understood how I was currently feeling.

Those hopes were swiftly and brutally dashed.

"Why are you here?"

I froze, one foot out the doorway, one foot in, my hand still midway through sliding the door open. It wasn't often that I had my presence questioned so explicitly the moment I walked into a room, though I was sure it happened often enough in the minds of my esteemed classmates.

"I'm… a member of the Service Club," I slowly replied, making sure to convey as much bemusement as I could summon. "Why else would I be here?"

"Oh, really."

Hearing the exact same phrase emanating from Isshiki's and Yukinoshita's mouths was unnerving, though I paid no heed to the apparent coincidence. I moved towards the opposite end of the table where she and Yuigahama were sat and pulled the chair out, making ready to ease myself onto it. Just as I had done countless times prior.

Before I could take my seat, however, I cast one brief glance upwards, only to find the other two staring at me. Yukinoshita, with a face as though I were a metamorphosized giant insect that had shown up in the clubroom without warning; Yuigahama, an oddly sheepish expression crinkling her face, her gaze immediately flickering away as I met her eyes.

"…What?" I asked.

"What do you mean, 'what'?"

"Why are you staring at me?"

The Ice Queen snorted. "Don't play dumb. Unless you honestly don't know in your heart of hearts, in which case you really shouldn't be here."

By now, I was used to the regular inbound barrage of hostility from the president of the Service Club – in fact, things wouldn't quite feel the same without it. Yet today, it appeared as though Yukinoshita had elevated herself to an entirely new dimension of contempt, one that couldn't even tolerate, let alone accept, the mere sight of my undesirable personage. And, for once, I had absolutely no idea why.

"You'll have to enlighten me, I'm afraid," I said as I finally sat down and rummaged in my bag for the novel I had brought to read. "Unless you're simply taking it out on me because it's that time of the month for you. Then I really can't help you much with that."

That last line was totally unnecessary, yet also something of a calculated risk on my part. The only times Yukinoshita was willing to divulge what was on her mind was when she was in a good mood – which was rarer than a steak cooked over a candle – or when she was furious enough to let her frigid façade slip. I was banking on this being an instance of the latter; after all, I did want to know what exactly was ticking her off. But at what cost?

Sure enough, I heard the paperback in her hand slam onto the table with as much exertion as a book of that size and weight could be slammed down. Which wasn't very much at all, though it was still sufficiently forceful to make my shoulders twitch.

"Okay." Yukinoshita took in a long, deep breath, evidently readying herself for the verbal onslaught she was about to commence. "I will spell it out for you then, since you insist on acting like the idiotic, ignorant, impotent, infertile imbecile that you've always been, and always will be."

Please, some things you can't say. I kept my comments to myself, however, and kept on listening.

"Imagine this – although I know your puny, microscopic, single-neuron brain may find it difficult. Suppose there's a member of my club whom I've graciously allowed to stick around despite his rarely ever doing anything productive and, in fact, oftentimes making things worse than they need to be. Now, suppose that despite my patience, generosity and long-standing forbearance, this 'club member' spends more time helping out another club – or organization, rather – than the one he's officially a part of, and the moment he runs into the first sign of trouble, he comes running to me to fix leaks that have sprung from the pipes of someone else's house. Something which I, out of the goodness of my heart, agree to do, because I am a sucker for helping people in need, but also because I know I can resolve the problems at hand far, far better than that certain someone else ever could, and I'd rather do something myself than step back and watch it being done badly.

"Now, imagine that after all the furor has died down, that certain someone else now tries to sneak around me and recruit – steal, in other words – that club member from right under my nose. And not only does that club member not tell me about the proselytizing, he actually agrees to it, again without telling me. What do you think I should do, hmm? Just sit around, twiddle my thumbs, let all my months of effort go to waste? Should I willingly be played for a fool just so the two of them can frolic about in plain view of myself – and Yuigahama-san, for that matter – and walk off into the sunset together? Is that it?!"

So desperately and exasperatedly was her last sentence spoken that I instinctively looked up again, having avoided eye contact for the duration of her spiel. I'd seen her brow furled in displeasure many a time, but this was the first time I'd seen her go truly flush with overwhelming emotion, sweat matting her skin, pale cheeks strawberry-like and full with emotional strain. I hadn't even known she was capable of such a display.

Either way, I knew I had but a number of seconds to muster a defence of my character. She wasn't wrong about many of the things she'd said, things that I could only add to the endless chain of suppressed regrets that I kept shackled around the ankles of my subconsciousness. But it was the details she'd gotten incorrect that truly mattered. For one, I hadn't accepted Isshiki's offer to join the student council – quite the contrary, actually. Which meant that whoever had leaked our conversation to Yukinoshita hadn't stuck around long enough to hear my answer to her proposition.

I looked over at Yuigahama and glared with just enough hostility to make sure she knew I knew it was her. To her credit, she did her level best to seem contrite, lowering her head until it was almost horizontally inclined, sinking her vision into hands which were clasped tightly on her thighs. Not that I really blamed her for it – after all, if she'd come running into the clubroom, anyone would've asked what the rush was all about, and Yukinoshita was nothing if not persuasive. But the fact of the betrayal was present nonetheless.

The second misunderstanding Yukinoshita seemed to have adopted was probably the more severe of the two, and it had to do with what exactly she, in her wildest and most unhinged of dreams, conceived the relationship between me and Isshiki to be. In her mind, Isshiki and I were, if not the perfect couple – a notion likely born of my own intrusive fantasies rather than Yukinoshita's – then certainly mutually resonant in some way, two birds of a jet-black feather, each of us embodying qualities whether fair or foul that intrinsically attracted us to one another, enabling us to enjoy one another's company.

I couldn't speak for Isshiki, but otherwise, that couldn't be any farther from the truth. The reason why Yukinoshita thought we were close was precisely the same reason why I didn't want to join the student council. I was responsible for Isshiki becoming student council president, and I had abided by my responsibilities for as long and as far as I was willing to take them. Actually joining the student council was simply a step too far, even if it technically wasn't false that I didn't do much with the Service Club – mainly because the Service Club itself didn't have much to do in the first place.

Above all, however, the roots of my refusal found their source in Isshiki herself. When we got along, we really got along – she was the only one who could spar with me without treading the blurred line between banter and insult, as Yukinoshita often and wantonly did. She was many-faced, manipulative, Machiavellian, but in a manner that was almost endearing when one learned to enjoy the masquerade for what it was. Of course, her being cute definitely helped, too. I wasn't afraid to say to myself that I liked her, in the most platonic and friendly way the word could be construed – for now, anyway – and I was confident the feeling was mutual. At the very least, one wouldn't shower so much attention on or go so far for someone they were indifferent to, and there had been plenty of back-and-forths in that regard over the past few months.

But did I trust her? After all the occasions spent second-guessing her intentions, figuring out whether she was pulling my tail or actually being sincere, watching as she emphasized fake vulnerabilities and hid her real ones… I wasn't so sure. And if I was going to spend every day after school with someone, it was going to be someone that I didn't feel like I had to constantly stand on my tiptoes around – even if that meant being subject to the odd chewing out here and there, just as I was now.

With Yukinoshita, Yuigahama, Komachi, and everyone else I knew, what you saw was what you got. With Isshiki, that was simply not the case. It was as easy as that.

And so, before Yukinoshita could usher in the next ice age, I cleared my throat and began to explain the situation as I saw it, clearly and calmly, conceding where I felt she was right, refuting where I felt she wasn't. Because I trusted her. Trusted her to be logical, to not blow her top before she'd heard the full story. Trusted her to not let emotion unnecessarily cloud her reason. Trusted her to accept the truth as I spoke it, in the knowledge that, unforthcoming about my thoughts as I could sometimes be, I was no liar.

A trust that would prove to be quite misplaced.