"My decision stands," Nagi added, the finality of his words hanging in the air like the strike of a bell.

Shizuka’s breath hitched, a brief and jagged break in her composure that she couldn't quite mask. For a second, the iron-clad authority of the Student Council President wavered, replaced by the sheer, frustrated heat of someone who had never been looked at with such chilling indifference.

Her hand, still resting on the mahogany surface, trembled almost imperceptibly.

"Fine," she snapped, the word sharp and brittle. 

The cold, professional veneer had finally cracked, and a raw, pulsing irritation bled into her voice. "If you are so determined to spit on the recommendation that brought you here, so be it. But do not think for one moment that you are above the rules of this institution, Asahina-kun."

She straightened her glasses with a jerky, agitated motion, her green eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something akin to disbelief.

"Kasumigaoka policy is absolute," she continued, her voice rising in pitch, thick with the weight of her wounded pride. "Every student—regardless of their 'desires'—must be a member of at least one registered club. It is a non-negotiable requirement for graduation. If it isn't the Karate club, then you have until the end of the week to submit a registration form for another. Any club. I don't care if you spend your afternoons counting dust motes in the literature room or knitting in the handicraft circle, but you will belong to a department."

She leaned over the desk again, her shadow stretching across the documents she had been reviewing.

"You want to be a ghost? Fine. But even ghosts at this school are filed and categorized. If I don't have a signed club application on my desk by Friday afternoon, I will personally see to it that your 'certain future' becomes a very uncertain reality. Am I clear?"

Tokiwa shifted uncomfortably beside her, his tablet screen dimming as he watched the President lose her legendary cool. He looked at Nagi, then back at Shizuka, clearly unsettled by the sheer density of the tension vibrating between the two.

Nagi felt the wintry focus in his mind slowly recede, replaced by a dull, familiar ache of annoyance. He had won the battle of the dojo, but he had lost the war for total invisibility.

Nagi let out a breath that was barely a sigh. He looked at Shizuka’s tense back, his expression returning to its usual state of bored indifference. The weight of her threats and the intensity of her outburst seemed to slide right off his beige sweater like water off a stone.

‘Holy yap,’ he thought, the mental comment dry enough to catch fire. ‘Does everyone at this school speak in monologues? My ears are starting to ache.’ 

He didn't bother defending his honor or arguing about the "certain future" she was so obsessed with. He simply adjusted his cuff, his movements lazy and unbothered.

"Fine," Nagi said, his voice flat. "I'll join a club. I think there was a cooking club, or a home ec circle, or whatever you call it here. I'll go sign up for that."

The silence that followed was even more profound than the one after his initial refusal. Shizuka spun around, her eyes wide with a fresh surge of indignation.

"The... Cooking Club?" she echoed, her voice trembling with the effort to remain somewhat professional. "You are an elite martial artist. You are a 'Sports Recommendation' student. And you want to spend your afternoons... peeling vegetables?"

"I like vegetables," Nagi replied, shrugging his shoulders as if the matter were settled. "They don't talk much. And they don't give speeches."

He saw the vein in Shizuka's temple throb. Tokiwa actually let out a small, muffled sound—half-cough, half-stifled laugh—and quickly tapped something on his tablet to hide his face.

"Get. Out." Shizuka managed, her voice dangerously thin.